The Other Side Of The Dark
by seaghost
Summary: He's going for the death sentence, Severus. And he's coming for you.' The Minister for Magic plans drastic action against all who bear the Dark Mark. But Snape has his own reasons for evading arrest. COMPLETE
1. Chapter One

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter One**

  
'Well, Potter, Malfoy I think you ought to be outside on a glorious day like this,' Professor McGonagall continued briskly.  
  
Harry did not need telling twice - he thrust his wand back inside his robes and headed straight for the front doors without another glance at Snape and Malfoy.  
  


* * *

  
Snape and McGonagall watched Harry march out into the sunshine. Malfoy opened his mouth angrily, but Snape forestalled him. 'You too, Malfoy,' he said. 'I need not remind you to tread warily around Potter from now on; indeed, to be careful generally.'  
  
Snape gazed meaningfully at Malfoy, who glared, then turned and stomped off after Crabbe and Goyle.  
  
'I need to speak to you quite urgently, Professor Snape,' McGonagall said softly.  
  
Snape nodded, his eyes distant. 'My office is nearest,' he said, offering his arm.  
  


* * *

  
The two teachers sat in silence in front of the fire in Snape's office. McGonagall sipped her tea, quietly waiting. Snape gazed into the flames, searching for something to say.  
  
'When?' he said finally. 'Was it murder?'  
  
'Early yesterday evening,' she answered, 'And no; Dilys said it was definitely natural causes-'  
  
'There's nothing natural about dying at the age of 43,' Snape whispered. 'What about Alice? Has Neville been told yet?'  
  
'Physically Alice is well; it's too early to say how Frank's death is affecting her. I imagine Neville will be told when he gets home. There's no point distressing him any sooner.'  
  
Snape stared silently into the fire, his eyes unreadable. McGonagall replaced the cup in the saucer, watching him as she considered how best to phrase her next bombshell. Snape closed his eyes, a sudden weariness crossing a face which was normally impassive. McGonagall sighed. There was no easy way to put it.  
  
'Fudge was there when Frank's mother arrived,' she said. 'He told her that now there is no doubt about the return of He Who Must Not Be Named, the Ministry of Magic will be doing everything in its power to defeat him, beginning with the immediate arrest of known Death Eaters. And he'll be petitioning for the severest penalty for anyone found guilty of supporting him.'  
  
She paused. Snape looked at her, his gaze suddenly sharp.  
  
'He's going for the death sentence, Severus. And he's coming for you.'  
  


* * *

  
'The ridiculous fool,' Snape hissed. 'Why me? It was my evidence that convicted Crouch and the Lestranges, he can't possibly seriously think me guilty!'  
  
'I don't know,' McGonagall replied. 'but he's spent almost a year insisting to the world that You Know Who is gone, and now he's been forced to admit he was wrong, he's looking for a way to redeem himself. He failed to recapture Black, and there are still Death Eaters are on the run. Now Frank Longbottom has finally died of his injuries. Fudge badly needs a victory.'  
  
'He's got Malfoy and his gang,' Snape muttered.  
  
McGonagall lowered her gaze. 'Yes,' she said quietly, 'but Malfoy wasn't there the night Frank and Alice were attacked.'  
  
Snape turned to her, the little colour in his face draining swiftly. 'You can't possibly think I had any part of that....'  
  
'What I think isn't the issue. Dumbledore presented your evidence to the Wizengamot as that of an anonymous spy, in order to protect you – only when Karkaroff accused you did he name you. But there are others who always thought his trust in you was misplaced. And the recorded facts note only that you were there the night Frank and Alice were attacked, and that you were the only one to walk out of that house with mind and body intact.'  
  
'Are you accusing me, Professor McGonagall?' Snape asked in a fractured voice.  
  
'No,' McGonagall said. 'I'm asking you what happened that night. Your information was invaluable to the Order; you saved lives and helped us turn the tide. You knew so much, and yet... how could you possibly have not known about the attack planned on the Longbottoms? You can't have done; if you had you would have warned us. But you didn't warn us, so you couldn't have known. But if you didn't know... how did you get there first?'  
  


* * *

  
Happy new year everyone! Thanks and best wishes to all my reviewers. As you may note, I've revamped the story slightly, polishing it up with HTML and changing a couple of errors, nothing major. I'm currently struggling over chapter 6, having hit a slight case of writer's block, but should have it sorted soon. Chapter Five should be up soon – hope you enjoy it. Thanks again for all your warmth and encouragement *hugs*   



	2. Chapter Two

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter Two**

  
Snape gazed silently into the fire, offering nothing.  
  
'I don't know what to believe, Severus,' McGonagall whispered. 'You've always been such a mystery. I remember you in your first year, refusing to transfigure the mice because you thought it was cruel. Even now you remain the only one of my students who ever even considered the question. But what you did that day after Sirius had been teasing you about your accent-'  
  
'I remember,' Snape cut her off harshly. 'An event I'll never forget because it changed my life. '  
  
'You scared us all so much,' McGonagall went on softly. 'I've never seen a child perform such a powerful spell. Several of the teachers thought Dumbledore should have expelled you-'  
  
'Were you one of them?' Snape looked up, his eyes cold. 'James believed I was the devil incarnate from that day on, even though I never did anything like that again. My father saw to it that I spoke English like an Englishman and that I never touched anything but English magic again for as long as I was at Hogwarts. But one mistake and I was damned from that moment on, wasn't I? Even now...?'  
  
'Yes Severus,' she replied, her voice hardening. 'And you're going to die for it unless you can give me something to defend you with. I WANT to believe you - I believe IN you. But there are very few who do. And they want to kill you.  
  
'Fudge has seen your Dark Mark - he already has all the proof he needs. But that's not enough for him; he wants to tie you to Frank and Alice's destruction. The only way to exonerate you is to prove that you were spying for us - but if we do that you'll be worse than dead at the hands of You Know Who.  
  
'If we can prove you had nothing to do with that, then there may be a way to save you from execution without exposing you.'  
  
There was silence. McGonagall sank back into the chair, exhausted by her speech. Snape went on staring into the fire; then he spoke.  
  
'You've given this a lot of thought, haven't you? You only heard all this last night, and yet here you are now with all this. I noticed you don't suggest I merely go on the run like Black. With this advance warning, why don't I simply escape?'  
  
McGonagall bit her lip. 'That would be an admission of guilt, leading inevitably to an investigation into why Albus employed a Death Eater at Hogwarts. How long do you think it would it be before your betrayal of the Dark Lord became known? And under those circumstances, it wouldn't just be you, but the whole Order at risk.'  
  
Snape buried his face in his hands, long greasy hair sliding between his fingers. 'So what you're basically saying is, I'm doomed anyway, so I should be noble about it. A choice between facing potential death by myself, or certain death with everyone else?'  
  
McGonagall got stiffly to her feet, steadying herself with the walking stick. 'I'm not going to let you die, Severus,' she said. 'I defended you when you were twelve. I shall defend you now.'  
  
She hobbled towards the door and turned, but Snape remained unmoving by the fire. McGonagall closed the door quietly and went to find Albus Dumbledore.  
  


* * *

  
Snape sat alone in the dark, unaware of the passing of time as long-buried memories surged before his mind's eye like a reel of film. While none of tonight's news had come as a particular surprise, the shock of Frank's death had opened doors long closed in his mind, releasing memories Snape intended to share with no one.  
  
The possibility of his capture and execution by the Ministry of Magic was one which held no fear. Since the Voldemort's return a year earlier, Snape had lived daily with the knowlege that his duplicity might be revealed at any moment, and when that moment came he knew his fate would  
be horrible. Ironically, this understanding was the source of his only shield against discovery, because it invoked a terror so complete his mind went blank every time he thought of it. And thus emptied of emotion, Snape's mind became a precision tool of Occlumency which allowed him, not only to hide his thoughts from Voldemort and his Death Eaters, but construct entirely spurious ones. It was a dangerous game, and one he played well, but he dared not imagine he could win. The  
prospect of a comparatively easy end from the Ministry of Magic was almost comforting.  
  
But now the game was over. The welter of emotions unleashed by the news of Frank's death was more than Snape could control, and the rage alone was overwhelming, leaving him dangerously vulnerable. Facing trial was out of the question.  



	3. Chapter Three

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter Three**   


There was silence in Dumbledore's office when Professor McGonagall had finished telling him all that she had heard at St Mungo's, and related her conversation with Snape. The late afternoon sunshine illuminated motes of dust in bright shafts and fell in strips on the fragments of machines smashed by Harry days earlier. McGonagall felt a slight alarm at the sight. While she could understand the complex of Harry's grief, she wondered at why Dumbledore had left the wreckage untouched. She was unsure what it indicated, but had already noted that Dumbledore looked particularly weary. Sirius' death was blow, to them all, but surely no more than the deaths of others had been? Compared with some, Sirius had been lucky. McGonagall's gaze wandered over the wall behind Dumbledore's desk and stopped at the sight of an empty portrait; she found herself unable to remember anything about its usual occupant. Then Dumbledore gave a heavy sigh, and her attention instantly returned to him, the painting forgotten.  
  
'While I agree this is the kind of foolishness Fudge has exhibited before,' he said, 'I suspect there is more to it than a simple wish to be seen to be doing something. If Severus is arrested, the Order will have lost its most crucial advantage. Fudge has no excuse for suspecting him; he has only to read the documents relating to Crouch's conviction to know that Severus is entirely innocent.  
  
'Yes,' murmured McGonagall, 'but what about Moody's report? He was the first Auror to reach the Longbottoms' house, and when he got there...' Her voice died as she recalled the graphic description of what Moody had found, and she closed her eyes as if this could blot out the vision supplied by her imagination. Dumbledore's voice seemed to come from a distance.  
  
'When Alastor arrived, the house was in silence. Inside he found the Longbottoms apparently dead, and Severus holding Neville. Severus pointed his wand at Neville and told Alastor to put down his wand. Alastor did so. Severus handed him the child and Disapparated. Alastor left the Aurors who had followed him to attend to Frank and Alice, and took Neville to St. Mungo's himself.'  
  
'He said there was blood everywhere,' McGonagall whispered.  
  
'None of which belonged to Frank, Alice or Neville,' Dumbledore replied quietly.  
  
'How did Severus get there before the Aurors?' McGonagall asked, almost to herself. 'Too late for Frank and Alice, but before Moody?' Tears welled as she looked at Dumbledore. 'Alice was going to have another baby...' She put her face in her hands and began to cry.  
  
Dumbledore gazed out at the fading summer sunshine as McGonagall wept. That of course was the question which would condemn Snape, and there was nothing that could be done about it. Dumbledore himself did not know the answer, for Snape had flatly refused to discuss it, coldly submitting the names of those responsible without detail. Alastor Moody had been unimpressed by Snape's evidence; he always believed Snape had betrayed the Lestranges and Crouch to save himself and had only grudgingly accepted him on the strength of Dumbledore's faith. But Dumbledore knew that deep down Moody still believed Snape guilty and that his loyalty had been bought with the promise of exoneration. If Fudge had reviewed the evidence of 14 years ago and concluded the same thing, then Moody's faith in Dumbledore's judgement would be severely tested by his desire to punish the last of the people he blamed for Frank and Alice's attack.  
  
A more urgent question was why Fudge was planning to pursue Snape at all. McGonagall's interpretation was extremely likely, but so was the possibility that Snape had been found out. Success and defeat were delicately balanced, and suddenly the fulcrum of that balance was the  
accusation against Snape. If this was more than another example of Fudge's monumental stupidity, then it meant Voldemort had a very well placed spy in the Ministry.  
  
Dumbledore got up and walked round the desk to McGonagall, placing gentle hands on her shoulders as she blew her nose and pulled herself together. He could think of nothing comforting to say, and so he said nothing.  
  



	4. Chapter Four

The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter Four 

  
The school lay deep in sleep and dreams, the noise and bustle of academia having finally surrendered to the shadowy midnight world which Snape had always loved. In a few hours all would be activity and excitement one last time as the students left for the summer holidays, but until then...  
  
He wandered slowly through the silent halls, letting his mind drift on the silence, finding peace in the sense of eternity permeating the ancient castle. Hogwarts had existed for hundreds of years before he had been born, and it would still be here long after he was dead. It sheltered him but did not need him. He was free to leave whenever he chose.  
  
Leave. He knew he had to. He wished he could give McGonagall the answers she wanted, but if she ever learned the truth, then it would be from someone else. Snape had carefully considered his options, and the best course of action still led inevitably to his death; and he was determined to take all his secrets with him. But if the condemned man could have his last wish, then a few hours in which to say goodbye would be his.  
  
He pushed open the door of the Great Hall and slid quietly inside, letting it close behind him. The enchanted ceiling revealed a clear summer night, glorious with stars. Snape moved slowly down the centre of the room between the house tables, drinking in the view with a quiet sense of joy. At that moment he did not care what the future might hold; he cared only that the night was beautiful.  
  
'The stars are lovely tonight, are they not?'  
  
Snape turned sharply to find Dumbledore standing behind him. Taken so completely off-guard, he could think of nothing to say, and for moment he forgot he was a member of staff, and experienced a fleeting chill of dread at being caught out of bed by the headmaster.  
  
Dumbledore gave him a gentle smile and sat down. 'It has been a long week, has it not?' he said. 'Minerva and I have been expecting Fudge and the Ministry of Magic to arrive and take you from us at any moment.'  
  
Snape, still standing, said nothing.  
  
'I hear you've spent most of the week in the library,' Dumbledore continued. 'I hope our modest collection was able to supply you with the information you require?'  
  
There was a long pause. Staring at the floor, Snape replied, 'More or less. However, the book I wanted appears to have lost something in the translation.'  
  
Dumbledore nodded. 'I decided to abridge it, in deference to the scope of the minds most likely to read it.' Snape looked up sharply to meet the headmaster's clear gaze. Dumbledore smiled again, and said, 'You are of course referring to your father's excellent work on the practice of Occlumency?'  
  
Snape's face froze for a moment. Then he sighed faintly, as if in resignation, and sank onto one of the benches, his head in his hands. 'Potter needs that book in its entirety. We're running out of time, and the boy can't even protect himself, never mind save anyone else. Right now, he doesn't stand a chance.' He raised his head, his face veiled by his long greasy hair. Hiding, Dumbledore had noted long ago. Snape swallowed. 'I failed you. I did try, truly I did... I'm so sorry...'  
  
'What happened was not your fault, Severus,' Dumbledore said softly. 'It is I who am sorry, and I apologise to you without reserve.'  
  
Snape held his head in his hands again, then looked up, raking the hair out of his eyes in one rough sweep. The look he turned on Dumbledore held terrible desperation. 'You do believe I had nothing to do with what happened to Frank and Alice, don't you?'  
  
'Yes I do,' Dumbledore replied. He held Snape's gaze for another long moment. 'You are going to run, aren't you?'  
  
'I can't stay,' Snape replied in a flat voice. 'The Dark Lord is going to find out I've betrayed him. I cannot be here when that happens.' He looked away. 'There's nothing more I can do for the Order now. And I... have other responsibilities.'  
  
'I understand,' Dumbledore said gently. 'Is there anything I can do to help you?'  
  
Snape shook his head. 'There's only one person who can help me, if he will. I'm going to ask him now; and then I have to go.' He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stood up.  
  
Dumbledore rose, and held out his hand. 'Then I thank you for all you have done for us, and I wish you the very best of luck.'  
  
Snape took his hand in a brief handshake and walked swiftly to the door. Then he stopped and turned. He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, then said, in a voice just above a whisper, 'Do you know who my father was?'  
  
'Yes, Severus. But Voldemort does not. Malfoy was never able to tell him, and I believe that no one else ever knew.'  
  
Snape nodded, and ran back towards the dungeons.  
  


* * *

Sorry if this has come up as a new chapter. I was trying to tidy the whole thing up and it went slightly wonky. Bear with me - Chapter Five should be up very soon! 


	5. Chapter Five

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 5  
**  
  
Harry Potter sat alone in his room at Number Four, Privet Drive, and came to a decision.  
  
The first two weeks of the summer holiday had been unbearable. It was strange how for years he had managed to endure the Dursley's casual cruelty without really thinking about it. Of course he had been unhappy; but somewhere deep down he had always believed the situation was temporary, that some day he would be free of them. He had not realised this at the time, however. It was now that he no longer believed it that he knew he once had.  
  
The Dursleys' had been rather more pleasant since their encounter with the Order on Kings Cross Station, even allowing him more food and giving him pocket money. Previously he would have been glad, but now, inexplicably, it only inspired a deep anger, and after a couple of days of awkward politeness he had gone back to spending his time either trailing the streets of Little Whinging or lying alone in his bedroom.   
  
Another thing which had really got on his nerves was the constant stream of letters. Last year he would have given almost anything to hear from his friends; this year he could not care less. It was difficult to escape the feeling that if Sirius had not died, they would be paying him no more attention than they had last summer. Writing back was almost more effort than he could muster, but Aunt Petunia had not forgotten Moody's threat to visit if he did not hear from Harry for more than three days in a row, and she periodically came to check he did not let his correspondence slide.  
  
All these irritations seemed to aggravate a peculiar mental agony which Harry felt unable to share with anyone. Not with the Dursleys – when had they ever shown any interest, even feigned, in his happiness? And not with the letter-writers, with their falsely bright pages of well-meaning chatter, giving him nothing but the intolerable pressure of having to reply. What did they want him to say? Did any of those people want to hear of how he lay awake at night, picturing Sirius as he fell through the ragged veil in the Department of Mysteries? Of how he relieved the events that brought him and Sirius to that point of disaster, trying to pinpoint the moment when he could have, should have realised it was a trap. And how could he possibly put into words the rage and guilt and howling misery that was all his in every waking moment?  
  
He was going mad here in Privet Drive. He was as abysmally alone as he had ever been, and yet surrounded by people who seemed to impose in his life without any reference to him or what he might want. He realised dimly that this had always been so, but he had not noticed; or it had not mattered before. Now he felt as if he were suffocating, trapped in an agonisingly tiny space which was shrinking daily.  
  
So now, Harry decided, this was going to change. Dumbledore had said that the charm protecting him from Voldemort meant he had to come home to the Dursleys only once a year; well he had been here a fortnight, so no problem there. If he now chose to go somewhere else, that was his business. Only three people had ever had the right to tell him what to do, and they were gone; he did not have to ask anyone's permission. Harry gave a bitter laugh and began stuffing his belongings into his trunk; why had this not occurred to him before? Before his third year at Hogwarts, had he not lived by himself quite successfully in a rented room in Diagon Alley?  
  
Only this time he would not be going to Diagon Alley, which was always crowded and where he might meet someone who would want to talk to him or bring him back. Harry wanted space and peace to be alone with his thoughts, in a place where nobody really knew him. Mind made up, he stroked Hedwig and told her his plans so she would know where to find him when she had delivered his last round of letters. Then he waited for Aunt Petunia to go out.   


  


* * *

  
Several hours later, Harry was dragging his trunk along the main street of Hogsmeade in the late afternoon sunshine. With his head down so his scar was hidden by his fringe, he was just another young wizard enjoying the freedom of the school holidays. Anyone paying attention might have wondered why he was on his own, and why he had his school trunk with him a week after term had ended, but everyone else in the village, local or holidaymaker, was too busy to take any notice. For this Harry was deeply grateful.  
  
He thought about staying at the Three Broomsticks, but decided against this in case he met any of the Hogwarts teaching staff in there; and even if he did not, Madam Rosmerta would certainly recognise him. So that left only one other place he could think of, and apparently it was conveniently cheap as well.   
  
Harry pushed open the door of the Hog's Head and trailed his trunk up to the bar. The place was quiet and dark, and emptier than the last time he had been there. Nobody looked up from their drinks or conversations as he dropped the end of his trunk to the floor, but the barman, who had been arranging beer glasses on a shelf with his back to the door, started. He turned and fixed Harry with a piercing gaze.   
  
'I need a room for tonight,' Harry said coolly. Almost without thinking, he met the man's eyes and let his mind go blank. Funny how easy it was to do when it no longer mattered whether or not he could.  
  
The barman raised an eyebrow. 'Only a night, young sir? It's five sickles. Or you can stay for a week for the bargain price of 2 galleons.'  
  
Harry had a vague suspicion the man was laughing at him, but decided to ignore it. 'OK,' he said, putting two galleons on the bar, 'I'll have a week. Thanks.'  
  
The Hog's Head lodgings were reached by a narrow staircase almost hidden in the shadows to the right of the bar. The barman lifted Harry's trunk with one hand as if it weighed nothing, and led the way upstairs to a small room which was unexpectedly clean, if somewhat Spartan. One window, hung with a tatty curtain, looked out over the moors above Hogsmead. Harry gazed outside and felt some of the tension inside his head ease. It would be hours yet before nightfall, plenty of time to go for a walk. The emptiness of the horizon beckoned.   
  
'Complimentary copy of the Daily Prophet, and your keys, sir.' The barman's voice cut rudely across Harry's reverie, and he turned with a frown as the man nodded and left, leaving the newspaper folded up on the bed next to the keys. Harry stared outside for a few more minutes, then pocketed the keys with a sigh and threw the Daily Prophet into a corner without looking at it. Pausing only to check that he had his wand, he went out.  


  


* * *

  
Three hours later, Harry was standing on the moor looking down at Hogsmeade nestled in its valley. He had whiled away a pleasant hour just wandering the streets, and discovered a small cafe down an unfamiliar side street. Eating fish and chips undisturbed, watching Hogsmeade quietly shutting down at the end of the day, and listening to the voices of strangers engaged in comfortable chatter just outside his private sphere, Harry felt as though he were free for the first time in his life. And, while he was far from happy, there was now a light glimmering in the darkness which had been consuming him.  
  
Leaving the cafe, Harry wandered back up the main street. He knew, although he hardly acknowledged it, that he was heading away to the path that led to the stile where he, Ron and Hermione had once met up with Sirius. It would have been the shorter road to where he was going, but he did not want to go that way yet. He turned his back on the path and the memory, and walked steadily up the main street, his gaze fixed on the rugged horizon. It gave him the illusion that he and the land occupied still points while the houses and shops visible from the corner of his eye were gradually moving back, thinning in number until they had disappeared. He wandered on and on until the road itself finally petered out into a rough cart track which in turn vanished into the moorland scrub.  
  
Now he was standing high above the valley. Hogsmeade and the world of people it represented seemed as unreal as it was far away. Harry slowly turned away from it. There was no place for him down there, and he wanted none. Out here, in the primaeval silence was the true context of his grief; only here could he give vent to his pain and find peace. He breathed deeply and opened his arms to the emptiness.  


  


* * *

  
Harry lay on his back on the moor, feeling drained but somehow cleansed. He did not know how much time had passed, but the clear blue of the summer sky was now riven with the reds and pinks of sunset. The beauty of the sight moved him to tears, but this was a peculiarly pleasurable sense, one he had never experienced before. He gazed up at the sky and eagerly drank in the sight and the unfamiliar new feelings.  
  
Sirius Black is dead.   
  
The knowledge filled Harry's mind without pain for the first time. Sirius had come to save him because he loved him, and he had died bravely. But he had not suffered. And one day, he and Harry would meet again, and they would have so much to talk about.   
  
The belief welled up and broke over Harry in a wave of warmth and joy. He rose to his feet and took a refreshing breath. He felt tired but knew tonight he would sleep peacefully; and while he would always miss Sirius deeply, the loss was something he could deal with. And now he should go back to the Hog's Head, where Hedwig was probably waiting for him, and he would write to everyone and let them know he really was all right after all. Yes, this is what he would do, and tomorrow  
  
'Potter.'  
  
Harry turned and froze. Between him and the path to the village stood a tall figure, robed and cowled in black.  



	6. Chapter Six

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 6  
**  
  
The temperature had dropped; when the sun set, even in the summer, the moors grew cold quickly. For a moment, Harry and the apparition regarded each other in silence. Then the man raised a hand to the cowl and lowered it. Harry drew a sharp breath.   
  
All the greasy hair was gone, shaved so roughly that Harry could see grazes where the razor had come too close. The face which had always been thin and sallow was now almost skeletal, but the familiar black eyes burned into his with cold light. As the evening breeze picked up strength, Harry could see the robes were thin and ragged, the body beneath emaciated; but the sight was nothing to the smell of something which reminded him – though he could not have said from where – of raw, rotting meat.   
  
Professor Snape took a step forward, moving stiffly. Harry took an involuntary step back, feeling sick. 'What are you doing here?' he said. The horror of Snape's appearance mingled with relief that he was not Voldemort somehow mitigated the question of how he had managed to appear so silently from nowhere right next to him.  
  
'I came for you,' Snape replied, but his voice was husky and lacked its usual assertive precision. He took another step closer, his rags billowing as the wind gained in strength. The glow of sunset had passed and the night was falling more swiftly than Harry could have imagined, drawing in with unexpected cold. He moved back, withdrawing his wand from his jeans pocket, and the two of them circled each other until Snape was no longer between him and Hogsmeade.  
  
'Came for me?' Harry gave a choking laugh. 'Yeah right! You're mad if you think I'm going anywhere with you!'  
  
'You stupid child,' Snape whispered, 'You've been up here for hours, don't you think the Dark Lord will know you're here? If I could find you, how much more easily could he?'  
  
But Harry found he no longer cared. The sense of comforting warmth had evaporated, and something dark and ugly was rising to the surface, some molten composite of all his anger and grief, absorbed into the antithesis he had always felt for Snape. Yet, even as it did so, something of that peace remained in the back of Harry's mind – a calmness where before there had been the painful surge of uncontrollable passion. At Hogwarts he had always known that emotional control was important in the execution of charms and hexes, but now he suddenly understood completely how much power such control might convey. A subversive sense of exultation bloomed deep inside him, and he levelled his wand at Snape.  
  
'I hate you,' Harry said quietly. 'It's your fault Sirius is dead. You taunted him for being a coward. You deliberately didn't let me know you understood me in Umbridge's office – if you had I wouldn't have gone. You hate me because of my father and you used the Occlumency lessons as revenge. I hate you.'  
  
Snape gazed at the point of Harry's wand, then into Harry's eyes. 'Yes. You hate me more than anyone else, even he who murdered your parents. Finding you gave me no difficulty, because your hatred – and mine – binds us like blood.'  
  
'Yeah?' seethed Harry. Bellatrix' words in the Department of Mysteries were floating through his head _'You need to really want to cause pain – to enjoy it'_ . He aimed his wand at Snape's head. 'We're not at Hogwarts now. I don't have to do what you tell me out here, you repulsive, screwed up bastard. And I'm going to make you pay for everything you've done to me'  
  
Snape's eyes burned in their sunken sockets, and he spread his arms wide. 'Do your worst, Potter,' he sneered. 'Let me guess which curse you're planning to use. And you're still underage? Go on, indulge your childish lust for revenge, use an Unforgivable Curse against an unarmed man, and ruin the attempts of everyone who cares about you to protect you. Say goodbye to Hogwarts and all your friends, say goodbye to any chance of a normal life or career in the wizarding world, go on, with one simple act you could betray Dumbledore and the memory of your beloved parents'  
  
'SHUT UP!' Harry yelled.   
  
Snape gave a quiet, bitter laugh. 'Beware lest you become the thing you hate,' he quoted.  
  
Harry stared at him, still pointing the wand. There was a long moment of silence while his brain grappled with the meaning of Snape's words. 'Damn you,' he whispered, and turned away.  
  


* * *

  
The disconnection in his head was odd. It was like a bank of stillness between him and the fire burning just out of reach in the depths of his mind; as if his feelings were things stacked on a shelf which he could see but could not reach. But even as this impression developed, he became aware of a shift in the atmosphere. Surely it shouldn't be getting this cold this quickly in the middle of summer, even out here?   
  
As Harry turned, wand raised, the darkness became absolute and icy. Snape stood motionless, head bowed as a rasping sound in the darkness beyond him signalled the approach of Dementors.   
  
'Go,' Snape in a whispered distantly. 'They're not coming for you. Go now.'  
  
Harry's knuckles whitened around his wand. He could see the monsters coming closer, could just make out variations in the shadows defining the edge of ragged cowls and scaly fingers reaching out towards them. Yet he hesitated; where were the feelings of misery and despair that accompanied a Dementor attack? All he felt was the physical cold; he did not even feel afraid.   
  
He felt nothing. Even the anger had evaporated. All he knew was that there approached a horror which he had the power to defeat. And that he would never run away.   
  
He concentrated, trying to find some emotion, something happy with which he could summon his Patronus, something to fight them with. But as he reached deeper into his mind, memories drifted back, and his sense of purpose suddenly short-circuited.  
  
_'You don't think you've got a sort of saving people thing, do you?'   
  
_Harry felt his hand fall to his side, still clutching the wand.  
  
Snape had closed his eyes, dark lashes livid against his pallor. A Dementor loomed out of the night behind him, hands outstretched   
  
_If I hadn't tried to save Sirius, Sirius wouldn't have died_  
  
Scaly fingers the colour of a decaying corpse wound themselves around Snape's throat. Snape went limp and the Dementor lifted him by the neck like a ragdoll, drawing back its hood with its other hand.  
  
He's going to die, Harry thought. And this would be more than death, unimaginably more. A rush of memories, of all the times Snape had treated him badly, unfairly, culminating in those awful Occlumency lessons, flashed past his mind's eye. Only moments ago Harry had wanted more than anything to hurt Snape and punish him for all of it, but more than all of that he had wanted revenge – no!_ recompense_ – for the death of Sirius.  
  
Snape could have prevented Sirius from dying, so easily if he had wanted. But he was probably glad Sirius was dead, probably had wanted it, and had therefore had allowed it to happen.   
  
A memory of an event so distant it could have belonged to someone else drifted into his mind. _'Do you think so?' said Lupin. 'Do you really think anyone deserves that?'. 'Yes,' said Harry, 'for some things.'_  
  
Harry turned away, his mind a blank.  
  


* * *

  
Gold and silver light suddenly exploded on either side of him  
  
Harry staggered, disorientated. Then there was a rush of warmth, and as he blinked in the punctured darkness, a giant silver wolf plunged past him. For a moment Harry felt as if he was floating in space, then the hard earth rose abruptly to meet him.   
  
There was a loud crack and Remus Lupin apparated in front of him. 'What the hell are you doing up here?' he gasped. 'Get back down to the village!' And he began to run up the moor after his Patronus.  
  
Something seemed to click inside Harry's head. Go back to the village like a good little boy? No way. He got to his feet, the sense of mental disconnection gone, anger rising like a tide ahead of all other emotions except fear. Scrambling back up the path in the trail of Lupin's Patronus, he reached once again for a happy thought – and his earlier feelings of joy came surging back. Raising his wand like a sword, Harry cried out in a strong, clear voice, '_EXPECTO PATRONUM!_'  
  
The silver stag blazed from the end of Harry's wand with almost painful brightness. In its light, Harry could see Lupin only a few feet ahead of him, and the stag overtook the wolf to charge down two Dementors. With rush of triumph and an almost casual flick of the wand, Harry sent another Patronus to join the others, and watched with satisfaction as the Dementors fled.   
  
The darkness lifted slightly, revealing the summer night sky dotted with stars and the moor as a dim collection of shadows among which Lupin stood alone. Flooded with a huge sense of well-being, Harry strolled over to him.   
  
'Hi Remus', he said lazily. 'We soon saw them off, didn't we?' Lupin gave him an incredulous look and moved away. '_Lumos_,' he said quietly, heading towards something lying in the gloom a few feet away.   
  
Harry was about to follow when someone shouted at them. Hurrying up the moors towards them carrying a lantern was the barman from the Hog's Head. Harry was somehow only slightly surprised to see him and not at all surprised to see Alastor Moody close on his heels. 'You're too late,' he said insolently, 'the Dementors are all gone now. You may as well go home.'  
  
Moody glared as he hurried past him, but the barman stopped next to Harry, wheezing slightly. 'Where's Snape?' he said. Harry shrugged. 'Don't know, don't care,' he muttered. Before the barman could reply, there was a shout from Moody.  
  
'Aberforth,' he said, 'bring that lantern over here so we can see what we're doing.'  
  
The barman rushed over, lantern swinging, and Harry followed. _Aberforth?_  
  
The light from Lupin and Moody's wands was being swallowed by the empty space around them, but as Aberforth lowered his lantern, the little scene was illuminated sufficiently for Harry to see Moody struggling to lift something. Lupin turned to them with a stricken expression.  
  
'I think we're too late,' he said, and Harry was disconcerted to hear his voice hold the same broken quality as it had when Sirius had fallen through the veil in the Death Room.   
  
'Too soon to say for sure,' Moody growled, managing at last to gain a hold. 'Let's get him back and see if there's anything left to revive.'  
  
Aberforth nodded, and pulled a wand out of his sleeve. He tapped the lantern and muttered '_Portus_', then held it out. 'You too, Potter,' he said gruffly, as Harry stared at him. 'On the count of three, then, one, two, three'  
  
Harry reached out at the same time as Moody and Lupin, as if in a dream. A moment later the three of them were standing in the kitchen of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.  



	7. Chapter Seven

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 7  
**  
  
Aberforth Dumbledore waited only a moment after sending the others away before Disapparating from the moor to the back room of his pub. Not a moment too soon; seconds later, three Ministry wizards threw open the door of his pub and strode up to the bar as if they owned the place. Aberforth composed himself, then mooched out to meet them.  
  
'Yes?' he grunted.  
  
'I am Percy Weasley, junior undersecretary to the Minister for Magic,' said the first wizard, an officious young man with flaming red hair and horn-rimmed glasses. 'A sighting of the fugitive Snape has been reported, in the vicinity of this inn. We are also aware of the use of an unauthorised Portkey.'  
  
_Ah_, thought Aberforth. _Ten Dementors appear this close to a settlement, and the Ministry are worrying over a Portkey. Typical. But who the hell told them about Snape?_  
  
'Well?' he said. 'That must have been the fugitive Snape making good his escape before you arrived. What do you expect me to do about it?'  
  
Weasley's eyes narrowed. 'I have Aurors searching the moor right now. And we fully intend to search every building in Hogsmeade if necessary. So,' he raised his voice to include the rest of the pub, 'anyone with information leading to the arrest of this dangerous criminal should come forward as a matter of urgency.'  
  
'Constant vigilance, eh?' Aberforth nodded in apparent approval, and one of the Aurors, a tall black man, caught his eye. 'Well, I'm sure we're all eager to help the Ministry. I'll be happy to show you the rooms upstairs, if you'll come with me?'   
  
'I'll do upstairs,' the black man said in a slow deep voice. 'Dawlish can stay with you and interview people down here.'  
  
'Very well,' Weasley turned away to main body of the room, Dawlish at his elbow. Aberforth unhooked a large ring of keys from just inside the door to the back room and led the way upstairs.  
  


* * *

  
'It was Moody who put us onto Snape,' said the Auror, as soon as they were out of earshot. A simple spell had told him that all the rooms were empty, and now they were standing outside Harry's room at the far end of the corridor. Aberforth drew a thoughtful breath.  
  
'I don't believe that you and I have met?' he said.  
  
'Kingsley Shacklebolt. And you are Albus' Dumbledore's younger brother?'  
  
Aberforth grunted. 'That's me. The black sheep of the family.'  
  
Shacklebolt grinned slyly. 'I heard it was a goat?'  
  
Aberforth snorted. 'So,' he said, changing the subject, 'what's Moody doing, setting the Ministry on Snape? How the hell did he know he was up here anyway? And did you know there were Dementors on the moor tonight?'  
  
Shacklebolt sighed. 'No, but it doesn't surprise me. Question is, were they there for Harry or Snape? Thanks for letting us know about Harry, by the way. Where is he now?'  
  
'Back home, with Moody, Lupin and what's left of Snape. He's fine, but Snape's in a bad way. Couldn't tell any details up there in the dark, and I had to get back here before you lot arrived.'  
  
'What happened?'  
  
Aberforth shook his head slowly, running the evening's events before his mind's eye. 'Difficult to say. Harry turned up just after five, wanting a room. He paid for a week and went out, and I didn't see him again, but I guessed he where he was going. I let Albus know he was here, and didn't think no more of it. Then about half nine, Moody and Lupin arrived, saying there were Dementors up on the moor. I didn't want to start a panic, so I just grabbed my wand and went up there with them.  
  
'It went dark and cold as we got to the edge of the moor, couldn't see a damn thing. Lupin summoned a Patronus then Disapparated to try and get there faster. Moody and I had to follow the hard way – as you know I'm not supposed to do much magic unless it's an emergency, and I don't think Moody's up to doing more than what's necessary these days, he's getting on a bit. Anyway'  
  
Aberforth broke off, frowning. 'I saw the light and shape of Lupin's second Patronus, heading after the first. But then, yards away, there was another light, but it didn't look like a Patronus. It was gold, not silver, and more like a kind of firework. No real shape, just a burst of golden light. Then Potter sent his Patronus very impressive Anyway, Moody and I had got there by then, and by this time the Dementors had gone.'  
  
'And the Portkey was to send everyone home?'  
  
Aberforth nodded. 'Yep.'  
  
'And a Dementor got Snape' Shacklebolt mused, his eyes sombre.  
  
'Y'know, I'm not sure,' said Aberforth slowly. 'Thing I can't work out is, why there was so much blood. Snape was bleeding, badly, and I've never heard of a Dementor doing that kind of damage. And that light he did some kind of spell up there, but I don't know what it was.'  
  
Shacklebolt nodded thoughtfully. 'Well, if there's any chance of finding out, Moody will find it.'  
  
'You reckon?'  
  
They were at the top of the stairs. Below them, voices indicated that Weasley and Dawlish had concluded their interviews and were ready to move on. Shacklebolt paused.  
  
'Yeah. He's never actually said so, but deep down he's never been happy about Snape. I don't know exactly how he knew he was here tonight, but I do know he never completely closed the file on him, even after he retired. He spent a lot of time chasing the Malfoys, and never got any of them. Then there was Frank and Alice '  
  
Shacklebolt broke off as Dawlish glanced up the stairs. Half under his breath, he finished, 'I almost think he'd like him to stand trial, regardless of the consequences. I do know there are questions he wants answered, in court or otherwise. So if there's any chance of Snape surviving what happened tonight, Moody will make sure of it, believe me.'  



	8. Chapter Eight

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 8**

Harry tried not to slop boiling water over himself as he carried the cauldron over to the kitchen table. It was smaller than the monstrosity hanging by its chain over the fire at the end of the cavernous kitchen, but still heavy and awkward. It lurched slightly as it hit the floor harder than intended, and Harry massaged the muscles in his forearms while Lupin ladled out some water for the herbs he had been frantically crushing on Moody's orders.

Snape lay face down on the long wooden table, one arm hanging limply over the edge as Moody's magical eye scanned his lifeless body. An attempt to remove the filthy rags had been abandoned when it became clear that they were stuck to his back with blood. That explained the smell, at least. Harry stood back, morbid fascination fighting nausea as Moody grimly began to sponge the fabric free with hot water, mumbling to himself.

'What a mess… This is on the point of going septic…'

Lupin brought over the bowl of herbs and water as Moody pried the last of the rags free and pulled the whole filthy robe clear, bundling it up and throwing it absently on the floor. Harry turned away, knowing he wasn't going to be able to stop himself being sick. He managed to get to the sink just in time, and caught only the last few of Moody's words to Lupin.

'… you can just see where strips of muscle have been pulled through the skin… see, it's slightly darker. I can heal this, but it's going to take time.'

'What about his arm?'

'Looks OK. St. Mungo's should be able to grow it back, as long as we can keep infection from setting in.'

Harry rinsed his mouth, took some deep breaths, and went back. Snape's ravaged body was now draped with clean towels, except for his back which Lupin was covering with layers of gauze and boiled herbs.

Lupin gave him a friendlier look than he had on the moor, but Moody regarded him with a slight glint in his normal eye.

'Feeling better?'

Harry nodded, pale but determined not to succumb to more squeamishness.

'Well,' said Moody, 'I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that Snape still has his soul.'

Harry bit his tongue on the comment that maybe Snape had never had a soul to lose. Instead he gazed into Moody's magical eye, wondering how much it was possible see with it. 'How can you tell?' he asked.

Moody moved around the table and drew back the towel covering Snape's left arm. Harry took another steadying breath. Half of it was gone, cleanly sliced just below the elbow, and he knew that he need only tilt his head slightly to see, in macabre detail, where bone and muscle ended. But against the dark oak of the ancient kitchen table, Harry suddenly realised he could see something else as well.

Moody smiled grimly. 'You don't need a magical eye to see a ghost. And a man has no ghost when his soul's been eaten by a Dementor.'

Pearly white, extending from the flesh just below the elbow joint, was the shade of Snape's missing arm.

Harry turned away, heart thumping, as Moody covered the stump again. 'Bad news is,' he continued almost to himself, 'that Snape's in such poor condition he could still die.'

'I don't understand it,' Lupin muttered, 'I only saw him a month ago, he seemed fine ...'

'No…' Moody mused. 'Well there's not much more we can do for him tonight. I'll finish cleaning him up. The two of you may as well go to bed.' He gave Harry another cold, almost searching look. Lupin sighed and wiped his hands in a towel.

'Come on then Harry,' he said, 'Let's go and have a chat.'

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Harry followed Lupin upstairs to the drawing room he had helped to clean the previous summer. The house seemed unnaturally quiet, and Harry found himself wondering what had happened to Buckbeak now Sirius was no longer there to care for him.

Lupin closed the door behind them and waved his wand into the darkness. A standard lamp in a corner just beyond the writing desk came on, illuminating a pair of winged-backed leather chairs in a small pool of light. Lupin sank wearily into one of the chairs and waved Harry into the other. He closed his eyes for a moment, and in the brassy light his prematurely lined face looked particularly worn. He took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled, opening his eyes and fixing Harry with a cool stare.

'OK,' he said. 'First of all, what the hell were you doing in Hogsmeade?'

Harry felt a flicker of anger, and he met Lupin's eyes with a glare. 'I don't see why I should tell you,' he replied stiffly. 'Dumbledore said I had to go home to Aunt Petunia's at least once a year. I did that. What I did afterwards is nothing to do with anyone anymore.'

Lupin said nothing, but there was a momentary glimmer of pain in his steady gaze. Harry looked down at his hands, a sudden sense of shame puncturing the angry self-pity. There was silence. Harry waited, but still Lupin said nothing.

'I just needed to be on my own,' Harry whispered. 'I wanted to get away from everything. What difference does it make? I've fought Voldemort twice and won. If I can't save myself, who can? I'm sick of ruled by other people. No one tells me anything, no one cares what I feel…' His voice wobbled and he sank his head into his hands, trying to control the embarrassing tears that had suddenly forced their way forward.

There was a creak of leather as Lupin leaned towards him, but Harry heard his voice as if from far away.

'I'm sorry, Harry,' Lupin said quietly, and his voice sounded odd and strained as if he too were struggling with emotion. 'I know how that feels, I really do. When I was your age I felt just like that. I was tired of being a werewolf, and I didn't understand why nobody could heal me. I thought they just couldn't be bothered, and I knew there was more to the condition than they were telling me. And my friends knew something was wrong and kept asking, and I just wished they'd leave me alone, because there was no way I could tell them or make them understand what I was really going through. I was sure that if I told them the truth they'd leave me.'

Harry pulled off his glasses and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. 'But when they found out, they didn't leave you, did they?'

'No they didn't. True friends care about you whatever you're going through. You just have to learn to trust them and give them the chance to give you the support you need. Even if it's simply trusting them not to hate you for asking them to give you a bit of space.'

Harry swallowed and blinked deeply. He felt suddenly exhausted, as if the events of the day had just caught up with him. 'So if I asked you to leave me alone, you would?'

Lupin smiled gently. 'Up to a point. But I'd get a bit cross if you just ran away without telling me and left me to worry that you were dead.'

Harry blew his nose and sat back in the chair with his eyes closed. 'And…' he said into his private darkness, 'if I trusted you enough to ask questions… you'd answer them?'

'As fully as I could, Harry. I don't know everything, and I'd ask you to bear in mind that you might not like the answers I might give. But if you promise to try and trust me to be your friend, then I promise you that I will do my best to answer any question you might ask.'

Harry looked at Lupin, suddenly wanting to cry again. There had been so many things he had wanted to ask Sirius: about his parents, about their lives when they had been at Hogwarts; to just know the man as a person. The idea that he might see him again at some unspecified time in the future when Harry was also dead was no longer the comforting one it had been up on the moor. Right now, sitting in Sirius' house without him, with Snape dying on the kitchen table downstairs, Harry suddenly found that he badly wanted human company, more than anything. And yet… his mind seemed to have gone blank of anything to say. He gazed dumbly at Lupin, who smiled back.

'So anyway,' Lupin said in a more casual tone of voice, 'you went up to Hogsmeade and had a look at the moors. Did it help?'

Harry nodded, and put his glasses back on. 'Yeah. Yeah, it did. And I was going to come and write to you and let you know where I was. I just needed to be alone for a bit.' He frowned, remembering the moment when Snape had appeared. 'Why did Snape come? He said it was easy to find me because I hated him. That it was like blood or something…'

Lupin looked thoughtful. 'I don't know. I didn't know you were up there until I arrived. I got here just as Moody was about to leave, and when he said he'd found Severus, I went with him. I had the shock of my life to find you up there too. The fact is, I haven't seen Severus for almost a month.' Lupin paused, watching Harry's face. 'Are you still reading the Daily Prophet? Aberforth said he'd given you a copy…?'

Harry shook his head.

Lupin paused, weighing his words. 'Well… apparently the Ministry have decided to arrest Severus for being a Death Eater. But by the time they came to Hogwarts, he'd already left, and no one knows where he went.'

Harry stared at him, remembering the scene in Hogwarts' hospital wing after the Tri-Wizard Tournament when Snape had shown Fudge his Dark Mark in an effort to convince the Minister that Voldemort had returned. 'But why? I thought he was meant to be on our side?'

'He is on our side, and I've no idea what the Ministry are playing at. But anyway, there was quite long piece in today's Prophet about him.' Lupin glanced at Harry, wondering if this was a good moment to tell him that the Death Eaters he had put in Azkaban were going to be executed. He decided the news would keep until morning. Harry looked tired, miserable and rather ill. Definitely time for bed.

'Let's talk about it tomorrow,' Lupin said, reaching out to put a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry started slightly; he had almost dozed off in the few moments' pause. He gazed almost mournfully at Lupin for a moment, then said, 'Why did you come? Why do you care so much?'

Lupin stared at him. 'What do you mean?' he asked tentatively. 'Why shouldn't I care?'

Harry blinked and frowned, as he was suddenly too tired to know where he was. 'About Snape,' he mumbled, yawning as he stood up. 'He told everyone you're a werewolf, got you sacked. He was probably the reason Umbridge made that law about half-breeds. He ruined your life, but you went up there to save him.'

Lupin put his arm around Harry's shoulders and steered him out of the drawing room and up the stairs to one of the bedrooms on the second floor. 'Nothing Severus has done to me would justify letting a Dementor get him,' he replied.

'But you didn't know there were Dementors there until you got there,' Harry said as he sank on to the edge of the bed. He stared blearily into space as Lupin pulled his trainers off and pushed him under the blankets. 'You looked distraught…'

The world slipped out of focus as Lupin removed Harry's glasses and put them on the chair next to the bed. 'You're exhausted,' Lupin whispered. 'Sleep well, and tomorrow I'll tell you anything you want to know.'

Lupin gazed down at Harry in silence, watching as sleep overtook him at last. He thought about that last question, more about how it had been phrased than the question itself, and fitted it into his own theories about what had happened up on the moor. Then he left the room, closing the door silently behind him.

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	9. Chapter Nine

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 9  
**  
  
Across the hall in the room Harry had shared with Ron the previous year, Moody finished laying out various bottles and potions on the table underneath the window. Outside, the night was dark and moonless, dotted with stars, and he worked methodically in the pale light of a candle on the window sill. Behind him, Snape lay swathed in bandages, in a sleep so deep it seemed he might already be dead.   
  
Moody padded more blankets around Snape's feet, propping them up on pillows to aid blood flow, then sat on the edge of the other bed. He stretched his wooden leg out awkwardly, and watched his patient with almost predatory satisfaction.  
  
At last he had what he had wanted for almost fifteen years: Severus Snape in custody. It was an annoying inconvenience that the man was currently in no condition to talk to anyone, but Moody was more than happy to wait. That there was still a Severus Snape to talk to was a tremendous relief, and a thorough examination downstairs had reassured him that apart from the devastation of his back, Snape was in perfect health and would make a full recovery. Extraordinary when you considered how thin he was; but any competent potion-maker could concoct a variety of _vitalis_ elixirs and tonics, so that must have been what Snape had done. The real question, of course, would be why. Down in the kitchen, Lupin had fretted that the Death Eaters had attacked Snape, but Moody dismissed the idea almost without considering it. If Voldemort and his followers realised what Snape had really been up to all this time, the Order would have been identifying him by his teeth  
  
No, Moody was fairly certain that the injuries were self-inflicted. But the immediate evidence was pointing him towards a possibility he would never before have considered in relation to a wizard. Shaved head, filfthy rags, and three signs of mortification of the flesh: starvation, scourging, and mutilation. Like a mediaeval penitent seeking absolution. Before going out to fight the devil?  
  
Moody frowned into the darkness. No wizard he knew had ever needed to resort to such measures; all that nonsense belonged firmly in the muggle world. And the most logical conclusion anyone might draw from Snape chopping off his left arm was that he wanted to remove the only concrete evidence the Ministry had against him for being a Death Eater.   
  
If, of course, you happened not to know that this was impossible. Moody remembered when they had caught up with Karkaroff. There were scars all over his arm where he had desperately tried to remove first the Dark Mark and then the whole arm, but to no avail. When the Dark Lord marked someone as his, it was for life; and after some of the things he had seen, Moody was prepared to bet that the last part of a Death Eater's body to decompose would be the arm with that mark on it. It would take power at least equal to that of Voldemort to remove it. Was Snape really that powerful? And if he was, why didn't he just challenge Voldemort himself and save them all this bloody trouble? Moody rubbed the bridge of his ruined nose and yawned. Another question for the list.  
  
'Heaven forbid that I should come between you and your beloved,' drawled an ironic voice in the dark behind Moody, 'but Dumbledore has asked me to tell you that he will be arriving shortly.'  
  
'This one's no beloved of mine, Phineas,' Moody growled, hauling himself to his feet and turning to face the painting. 'Let Dumbledore know his precious little spy will live, and that I'll be waiting for him in here.'  
  
Phineas Nigellus Black sniffed and walked away out of sight. Moody waved his wand, allowing a little more light into the room. He would have preferred to use some other room to this, but the only person guaranteed to have time to keep a constant watch over Snape was the painting of the former Hogwarts Headmaster. Since Sirius' untimely death in the Department of Mysteries, Phineas Nigellus had shown little inclination to remain in any place but his portrait in the house in Grimmauld Street. Moody had occasionally glimpsed him in various pictures all over the house. Watching and waiting, for someone who would never come home again.  
  
Moody reached for the scrawny wrist, checked the pulse was still even and regular, then went over to his trunk. Selecting a key from the collection, he opened it and withdrew a polished wooden box. He carried it over to the bed which would be his for as long as he tended Snape, and sat down, resting the box on the end of the bed. He stared at it for a while, frowning. Then he unlocked it and slowly raised the lid.  
  
Dumbledore had naturally discovered by now that it was he who had alerted the Ministry to Snape's whereabouts, and would no doubt want to know why, and possibly how. Moody gazed into the box which had lain untouched in his attic until a fortnight ago and pulled out a fat scroll. He did not know if Dumbledore remembered the contents of his report of the attack on Frank and Alice Longbottom, but he would offer him the chance to refresh his memory with his own personal copy. He put the scroll on the bed and reached into the box again. The object he pulled out this time was small and soft, tiny in his large hands. A baby's teddy bear. He held it gently, and wondered if its original owner remembered it at all. He hoped not. He had found it abandoned in the Longbottoms' house, drenched in the blood which stained it now. 

* * *

  
Remus Lupin sat alone in the vast kitchen with his hands wrapped around a flagon of firewhisky. He felt physically drained and needed sleep, but after a restless half an hour of insomnia, he had decided that what he really needed was a stiff drink.  
  
He had never seen anyone manage to summon two Patronuses in immediate succession before. Up until today, he would have said it was impossible. Most wizards would struggle to produce just one corporeal Patronus, and he himself had felt almost spent after doing so today. Yet Harry had done it OK, so he'd almost collapsed with exhaustion half an hour later, but he had resisted a large group of Dementors at close quarters and  
  
Lupin took a deep swallow of firewhisky. No, that's not quite what happened, was it? He had got to the edge of the moor in time to see the Dementors close in on two people, one of whom he knew was Severus. Just before he Disapparated, he had seen the smaller of the two figures turn away and start walking towards the village, and as he unleashed his Patronus a moment later, there had been a blaze of light. He had chosen that moment to Disapparate, and there was a moment of blankness before he found himself next to the small figure which had turned out to be Harry. And Harry had been calmly walking away from enough Dementors to paralyse the happiest of people. Only after Lupin's arrival had Harry done his amazing magic. Why? How?  
  
Lupin jumped as the kitchen door suddenly banged open; he had been thinking so deeply that, like Harry earlier, he had fallen into a waking doze. Then kitchen lights came up and he put his hand over his eyes in the unexpected brightness.  
  
'Oh sorry, Remus,' said a female voice, and the lights dimmed to something more comfortable. Lupin took his hand away and looked round to see Tonks and Shacklebolt standing in the doorway. Shacklebolt's face was the expressionless mask developed by Aurors everywhere after so many years of service, but Tonks looked pale and and shocked.  
  
'Is Professor Snape all right?' she said, her expression daring Lupin to tell her the worst.  
  
'Yeah,' said Lupin, still blinking in the shock of the light. He sometimes wondered if photosensitivity was a feature of lycanthropy or if he would have suffered this much as a normal human. 'He's upstairs with Moody if you want to go and see him'  
  
'Dumbledore and McGonagall have already gone up,' said Shacklebolt, 'They asked us to give them a few minutes. So Snape managed to keep his soul then?' And in the dark depths of the other man's eyes Lupin saw a flicker of concern. He nodded, feeling suddenly slightly drunk. Firewhisky on exhaustion and an empty stomach – maybe not the good idea it had seemed earlier.  
  
Tonks gave a gasp of relief, and Lupin noticed she had tears in her eyes. He got up and drew her into a hug, and found he had done so as much for his comfort as for hers. Shacklebolt smiled, and conjuring two more glasses, poured them all more firewhisky.  
  
'So', he said, 'what happened? Aberforth said he thought Snape did some kind of spell up there, something like the Patronum charm?'  
  
'Dunno,' said Lupin as he and Tonks disengaged. She sat down next to him, wiping her eyes, holding his hand like a child. He took another swallow of firewhisky, and reached for the end of the trail of thoughts they had interrupted.  
  
'It was really weird,' he said at last. 'Harry didn't react at all to the Dementors being there until I arrived, then he turned round and did TWO Patronuses. And Severus Severus just stood there and let them come.'  
  
The jumbled thoughts were starting to fuse in Lupin's inebriated brain, and a connection he realised he had been trying to make since putting Harry to bed suddenly sparked a solution. But as he was about to explain, he was suddenly aware of the expectation in Shacklebolt's rapt expression and Tonks' distress. He hesitated. A promise he had made a long time ago suddenly came to mind, and he wondered if telling them what he really thought had happened would count as breaking it.  
  
Then the kitchen door opened to admit Professor McGonagall, rescuing Lupin from his immediate moral dilemma. Tonks leapt to her feet, sending her chair flying back with a crash. McGonagall gave her a warm smile. 'Yes Miss Tonks, you may go and see him now if you wish.' Tonks' face lit up. 'But,' she said as the girl rushed to the door, 'he's been very badly hurt, so please at least try to be quiet!' Tonks grinned, and as McGonagall replaced the fallen chair and sat down next to Lupin, they could hear her feet pounding up the stairs.  
  
'You seem a little drunk, Mr Lupin,' said McGonagall, delicately taking the glass away from him and frowing at Shacklebolt, who grinned. Lupin focused muzzily on her, trying to collect his thoughts.   
  
'Yeah,' he said. 'I'm sorry, we'll have to discuss this in the morning, I'm shattered. G'night.'  
  
There was a crack and he Disapparated. Shacklebolt stretched comfortably and smiled at McGonagall. 'He was just about to tell me something interesting about Snape when you arrived,' he said conversationally. McGonagall raised an eyebrow.  
  
'Yes, I gathered that,' she replied, 'only it appears you miscalculated the amount of alcohol.' She fixed Shacklebolt with a beady look. 'What was it you were hoping he would tell you that you didn't believe he would say if he was sober?'  
  
Shacklebolt gazed down into his glass of firewhisky. 'I never knew Snape and Remus as students,' he replied quietly. 'They had just left the year I started, and Snape was never a friendly teacher, even to his NEWT students. However, there were always plenty of rumours, and it's surprising what you can learn by talking to the portraits and the school ghosts'  
  
He raised his eyes to look at McGonagall. To his trained and experienced eye it seemed to him that she was holding her breath. A sign that he was heading in the right direction. But there was a definite touch of frost in her eyes as she said, 'Go on.'  
  
'Once upon a time,' he said, 'there was a first year Transfiguration class in which two boys had a fight. One of them found all the spells easy, and seemed able to do anything. The other seemed to know an awful lot of magic, but had trouble actually doing any because his foreign accent made him mispronouce the words. The first boy made fun of the second, and the second lost his temper and, in an effort to prove himself as talented as the first, performed an act of incredibly powerful magic.'  
  
'A lot of our students are very talented,' McGonagall said, 'and some of them have been taught by their parents before coming to Hogwarts. Sometimes they try to show off, as young children away from home for the first time often do, to gain attention. There is nothing remarkable about that.'  
  
'How many of them could survive a Dementor's Kiss?'  
  
'Mr Shacklebolt, why are you asking?'  
  
'I'm asking because tonight a former Death Eater was found on a moor surrounded by creatures we know have joined You Know Who. Not only that, but he was up there with Harry Potter, the person You Know Who most wants to kill. And he was apparently Kissed by a Dementor – but he still has his soul.  
  
McGonagall and Shacklebolt held each others' gaze, each trying to read the others' face, both failing. Shacklebolt decided to push a bit harder.  
  
'It's one of two things, Professor. Either Snape has been lying to us and he's still on You Know Who's side. That would explain how he survived the Dementors tonight, and it might explain how he seemed to disappear off the face of the earth two weeks ago. Or – and I want to believe it, I really do – he's a much more powerful wizard than most of us realise.  
  
'But the bottom line is this: if there's any possibility Snape's on You Know Who's side, then the Order have got to consider it. I mean yes, he's been very useful – but what proof do we have that he's not just feeding us the things they want us to know, setting us up?'  
  
'We're not DEAD, Mr Shacklebolt, that's our proof!' McGonagall suddenly stormed. 'If You Know Who was using Severus to get to us, then you and I would not be having this conversation! I don't know what rubbish you may have heard while studying for your NEWTS, but if it came from paintings and ghosts, then it can hardly be regarded as reliable witness! But let me tell you this: I taught Severus and Sirius and Remus, and I have every faith that each of those extremely talented young men is entirely committed to the Order-'  
  
'He was a Death Eater. He was there the night Frank and Alice were attacked – the evidence might plausibly suggest he was the reason they were attacked. Can you honestly say you haven't had your doubts?'  
  
McGonagall bit her lip. No, she could not. Yet right now, at the challenge, she realised that despite all she had said to Snape two weeks ago, she believed with all her heart that he was innocent of Frank and Alice's doom. She looked at Shacklebolt, unruffled and inscrutable, and pursed her lips. 'Mr Shacklebolt, are you playing games with me?'  
  
Shacklebolt gave a devious grin, but his eyes were serious. 'I wanted to know what you believed. Because after reading Moody's report this evening, I don't know what to think, and I really need to know.'   
  
'In that case, I think perhaps I can help you,' said a calm voice.  
  
McGonagall and Shacklebolt turned abruptly. Albus Dumbledore had entered the kitchen, accompanied by his brother Aberforth. Moody followed them in, and the door closed by itself behind them.

  


* * *

  
Dear, lovely people, thanks a lot for all the reviews! How my starved ego loves you dearly! Warm fuzzies all round! 

Geministaz: You're dead right, although I'm just copying the way published books do it. I do feel some guilt over starting sentences with "and" and "but" though.

Barbara Kenedy: Interesting idea, but I'm going in a slightly different - although arguably related - direction. Hope you like it!

Snape Coolgirl: Thanks a lot, I was very fond of that bit. More on the ghost coming up, though possibly not for a few chapters

Melissa: No slash, although some sex coming up... which I'll have to think carefully about, unless I want to lose my PG-13 rating... And definitely a bit more angst. In fact I changed the description of the story from romance to angst as the secondary keyword, as I'm finding it's taking longer to get to the passionate romance than I originally planned. Never mind though!

Lilith11: Does my sense of guilt reflect my generous nature or an ego going berserk? Hope you're having a great holiday!

Everyone else: I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you 


	10. Chapter Ten

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 10  
**  
  
Harry Potter opened his eyes.  
  
For a moment he thought he was back on the moor, for the sky was dark and clear, arrayed with stars like diamonds on velvet. But then he saw that he was standing at the edge of a calm sea, waves nuzzling the shore less than a yard away. A full moon hung low over the horizon.  
  
Harry's feet were bare beneath the hems of his jeans, and there was sand, pale and fine in the moonlight, beneath his feet. It felt soft, and he scuffed it with pleasure, feeling it slide between his toes. He could see that he was standing on the far shore of a tidal lake; a mountain range climbed steeply from either side of a narrow gap to enclose the water and the narrow stretch of sand on which he stood. Turning, Harry could see the beach give way to scrubby grass which disappeared into a small wood, and behind that the mountains towered. The quiet bay seemed enclosed in a natural fortress which might have seemed menacing, but Harry surveyed it with a sense of joy and excitement. He felt supremely protected in this hidden place, and as he stood there taking in the sight and smell of it, an idea began to form that somewhere just up ahead was somewhere he really wanted to be.   
  
He began to walk up the beach towards a place where the wood seemed to thin at the foot of the mountain. As he drew closer he could just make out an oddly regular shape to the shadows in the rock face which suggested... yes, some kind of carving... but of course, a doorway. He ran the last few feet, the sand petering out into a more solid path into the trees, and up to the place where a rectangular hole was hewn into the rock face itself. To Harry this seemed not at all strange, and no more strange than the contrastingly ornate wooden door hinged inside it and invitingly open. Now he was almost there, Harry could see that there was a dim light issuing from inside. He moved towards it, off the path onto a cold stone step, reaching to push the door the rest of the way open with a sublime, all consuming sense of... coming home.  
  
The door opened onto a vast carven hallway, at the end of which was a sweeping stone staircase leading up to a narrower passage. Only the regular lines of the walls and the stairs indicated human intervention; stalactites and stalagmites covered the ceiling and lined the floors, petering out sufficiently to make a path from door to stair. Harry ran on, up the stairs and into another, smaller hallway, this one of more conventional panelled wood, dark and hard with age. Tallow lamps burned at intervals along its length, and now Harry could see several doors; two in each side, but these were closed; and at the far end, a door which stood half open.   
  
Harry moved forward more slowly. Somewhere in the back of his mind was Hermione's voice, telling him that this might be a nice dream, but wasn't it terribly like the ones Voldemort had been giving him? But even as he listened he knew in his heart that there was nothing to fear. He walked into the mountain and up the stairs towards that half-open door, knowing that in here lay safety and peace.  
  


* * *

  
Dumbledore sat down next to McGonagall, while Aberforth took a seat on his other side and helped himself to Tonk's untouched glass of firewhisky. Moody joined Shacklebolt on the opposite side of the table, facing them. McGonagall could tell from his closed expression that unlike Shacklebolt, he was not looking for direction; he believed he knew all he needed to about the man lying on the edge of mortality upstairs. But she could not entirely blame him, knowing as she did the details of the report he had brought with him. Moody put the scroll and a wooden box on the table while he angled his chair in order to stretch his wooden leg out comfortably. Then he pushed the box to one side and folded his arms grimly, the scroll lying like a barrier between him and Albus.  
  
Dumbledore, she noticed, had also brought something: a large leather-bound book which looked as if it had spent many years unopened and forgotten. He placed it face down on the table in front of him, and neither she nor Shacklebolt managed to glimpse its title.  
  
'You make a very reasonable argument, Kingsley,' Dumbledore began in the same calm voice, 'And I might invite you to consider the evidence logically. As Minerva points out, we are not dead, and we surely would be if Severus were not truly on our side. I can think of no reason why Voldemort would have spared us for as long as this if the opportunity to eliminate us were so easily in his grasp. Particularly now that the world knows he has returned.  
  
'However, Alastor's report makes for unpleasant reading, and I do not doubt that you are not the only ones wondering where Severus' true loyalties lie. Indeed, most of the Order had no idea he was with us in the days before Voldemort fell; only that we had a spy in his ranks. Only when I had no choice but to name him did I risk anyone finding out about him.  
  
Dumbledore paused to collect his thoughts before continuing.  
  
'Severus became a Death Eater a month or two after finishing his NEWTS at Hogwarts, when he entered the employment of Octavian Malfoy. Malfoy's son Lucius was a fifth-year prefect in the year Severus started school, and after the incident to which you were referring, Kingsley, became very interested in him. At the time, I thought little of it. Severus was often at odds with James and Sirius, and Lucius had a knack for catching them. He soon gained Severus' trust and introduced him to children of his own age in Slytherin House, where he subsequently made most of his friends. I remember feeling pleased that Lucius had set such an example of inter-house tolerance and friendship, and pleased also that Severus, who was a rather lonely little boy when he arrived, had made some friends. If only I had fully realised' Dumbledore sighed.  
  
'Realised what?' Shacklebolt prompted.  
  
'Realised that a spell of the nature and magnitude which Severus had used would have been felt by more than just the teaching staff. Lucius Malfoy found out where the spell had been done, found out who was responsible – probably the same way you did, Kingsley, by simply asking the portraits and ghosts – and then set out to befriend the culprit. He was never Severus' friend – all he wanted was Severus' power.  
  
'But Severus was too young and too unhappy to recognise this, and he believed he had found a friend and protector in Lucius Malfoy. Six years later when his father died, the offer of a job and somewhere to go must have appeared as another example of the Malfoys' generosity.  
  
'I do not know exactly what happened, but after almost a year, Severus discovered that his friends were deceiving him, and that the Death Eaters were not the organisation he had believed them to be. He left the Malfoys' house, taking with him various of Octavian's papers, and attempted to give himself up to the authorities.'  
  
Moody snorted. 'He did not. I was working the Malfoys' case; Snape never came near me.'  
  
'No,' said Dumbledore quietly. 'Severus did not know where to find you, and he did not want to risk being caught by the Death Eaters by going directly to the Ministry. So he went to the one person he could find, someone he had liked and trusted when they had been at school. Severus gave himself up to Frank Longbottom.'  
  


* * *

  
Harry gazed around in wonder. The room in which he now stood was vast, and had evidently been carved from the mountain itself; the floor beneath his feet was cold, rough and uneven. Moonlight poured in through a large, glassless oriel overlooking the bay. The view was breathtakingly beautiful, a vast darkness littered with shining points of light, and Harry moved towards it, mesmerised. The constellations seemed far more distinct than they had on the beach, and Harry decided this place must be some kind of observatory, although there was no sign of any telescopes.  
  
Illuminated in pale silver shadows was a vast inglenook fireplace and high curving walls veined with quartz. These were incongruously lined with large bookcases which stretched all the way up to the ceiling, far beyond the reach of any human being. And yet, while some shelves were crammed with scrolls and books of different colours and sizes, others were strangely empty, areas of deeper shadow set at irregular intervals. Harry stared up in awe, wondering if giants lived here and why they didn't spread the books out a bit more evenly. He could almost picture Hagrid sitting in front of that fire, reading a scroll and looking like a normal-sized human.   
  
He moved into the room, finding himself powerfully drawn towards the fire burning cosily in its imposing grate ahead of him. Large furry rugs were strewn in front of it, and on either side was a wooden settee draped with more furs, large cushions and bright woollen blankets. It was an oasis of comfort and warmth in a room which looked as if it had never been meant for human occupancy; but as Harry drew nearer, he suddenly realised that someone was already there.  
  
A dark-haired boy lounged in a nest of furs and pillows on one of the settees, deeply engrossed in a large book. He sucked absently at the tip of his little finger while his dark eyes darted back and forth over the tiny print, apparently unhindered by the dim light, and oblivious of Harry's presence. Harry stared at him in amazement. The boy looked only a year or two older than himself, but there was no mistaking the large hooked nose and the oily sheen of the long dark hair.   
  
Severus Snape took his finger out of his mouth and turned to the next page, his gaze idly flickering up and over the space in which Harry was now standing. He blinked, his face a picture of blank amazement. Harry froze.   
  
'How did you get in here?' Snape asked, glancing from Harry back towards the door. A fleeting look of eagerness was replaced with a frown, and Harry wondered if Snape was about to yell and throw things at him like he had after the Pensieve incident in his office.  
  
'The door was open,' he faltered.  
  
Snape looked from Harry to the door and back again, and comprehension seemed to dawn in his face. There was a long pause in which his black eyes scanned Harry's face as if measuring every inch against some mental check list, calculating. Then the corner of his thin mouth lifted into a wry smile; but something bleak seemed to fill his eyes.  
  
'Of course,' he murmured. 'I wondered what you would look like if you came here. You certainly don't look like James. Hello, Harry son of Lily.'  
  
Harry stared at him. Obviously this was a dream, or Snape could not possibly look the way he did. But how could Harry look different too? It occurred to him that nobody had ever compared him to his mother before.  
  
Snape turned back to the door with a strange look on his face, a mixture of longing and disappointment, as if he had been hoping for something particular to happen and had realised that something quite different and potentially unpleasant had taken place instead. He did not look as if he was about to fly into a rage, so Harry decided to risk a few questions himself.  
  
'Where are we?' he hazarded. 'You look different too.'  
  
'You're dreaming,' said Snape distantly. He tore his eyes away from the door and looked back at Harry. A hint of the old familiar look of loathing had now entered his expression, but there was curiosity and a tinge something which might almost have been despair in there as well. He waved towards the other settee with a long hand which, Harry noticed irrelevantly, featured an impressive set of long, manicured nails. Harry sat down in the furs and blankets, and as he did so, the same sense of warmth and comfort that he had felt on the moor enveloped him. His apprehension subsided, and the look of distaste in Snape's eyes seemed to fade.  
  
'You're probably wondering how I managed to find you up on the moor,' said Snape quietly.  
  
'You said it was because we hated each other,' Harry replied.  
  
Snape smiled grimly. 'Yes, it was, in a way. Your hatred for me the last time we saw each other was almost overwhelming. Only once before had I experienced such a tangible wave of emotion from anyone, and it made me realise two things. One: you are utterly incapable of Occlumency as things currently stand. And two: your negative emotions will create a door into your mind through which the Dark Lord can enter any time he wishes.'  
  
Harry frowned. 'Dumbledore said Voldemort couldn't get into my mind because it was full of love and that that was the thing he hated most.'  
  
'Really,' said Snape drily. 'And is your mind full of love when you think of me?'  
  
'No,' Harry replied coldly.  
  
'Is it full of love every time you receive another irritating, inane letter? What about the time you're forced to spend living with your family? How loving is your state of mind then?'  
  
Harry felt his scalp prickle with muted horror. Voldemort had possessed him with ease in the Department of Mysteries until he had thought about his friends with love; only then had he released him. What would have happened if he had felt hatred instead? And how else could Snape know how he had felt about his friends' letters if he too had not some way into Harry's mind?  
  
'On the day I left Hogwarts, I created a charm to shut your mind off from the Dark Lord and anyone else who might try to break into it. For as long as it lasts, you are perfectly safe from any mental intrusions. However, I cannot guard your emotions.  
  
'I found you today because your misery and grief reached an extreme point and became a beacon. To me, because the charm I created conjoins our minds. To the Dark Lord, inevitably, because you are linked to each other by your scar, although I believe I may have been able to keep him from finding you. To the Dementors because they feed off emotion and came in search of prey.'  
  
Harry thought about the last two weeks as the full meaning of Snape's words sank in. There had been no nightmares - no dreams at all that he could remember. The pressure of his emotions had been steadily building, but the nights had been remarkably peaceful compared to the previous year. It had never occurred to him to wonder why.  
  
'When the Dementors turned up, I didn't feel anything,' he said in a husky voice. 'I couldn't feel anything. I tried to do a Patronus, but I couldn't...'  
  
His voice tailed off as he thought of the memory fragments.  
  
'You felt no emotion at all. You had thoughts instead, and the thoughts suggested to you that you should not try to fight the Dementors.' Snape's voice took an uncharacteristically gentler tone. 'You thought that trying to save me would cause more harm than good and that you couldn't help me by staying, and so you went away.'  
  
Harry nodded. 'Why?' he whispered. 'I hate you more than anyone, but I wouldn't leave even you to a Dementor. Why couldn't I do anything to save you?'  
  
Snape leaned back in his furs, and drew his long legs up so he was sitting cross-legged. 'Because I was stopping you,' he said. 'I took away all your emotions so the Dementors could not find you, and used them to augment my own power in order to fight them. I stimulated your memory for examples of why you could not save me and would not want to. Apart from defending us both, I wanted to try something I had been researching. I am pleased to say it worked.'  
  
He took another glance at the door as Harry digested this information. 'After Remus turned up, I managed to do two Patronuses,' he said. 'If you took all my emotions, how did I manage that?'  
  
'Because at that point I... let go,' said Snape quietly, 'and you shared my power for a moment.' He sighed deeply, and seemed to be thinking hard for a moment. 'What happened after Remus arrived?' he said finally. 'I only caught a glimpse of him, but he looked distraught. Why was he there?'  
  
'He came to save you,' Harry replied. 'Mad-Eye Moody came after you and he went with him. He was really upset when he thought the Dementor got you.'  
  
Snape's face tightened and there was a sudden spark in his eyes. 'Moody?'  
  
'Yeah,' Harry said carefully. Snape looked angry, but Harry no longer felt afraid of his temper. 'He's looking after you at the Headquarters. Um... you're really badly hurt, did you know that?'  
  
Snape gave shaky laugh. 'Oh yes,' he replied in a bitter voice, 'I realised that when I saw you standing here. Harry, the charm won't last forever. You will find Occlumency much easier while it is in place, but you must learn how to close your mind for yourself it as soon as possible, because when the charm fails, you will be as vulnerable as you were before.'  
  
'Why won't the charm last?' asked Harry.  
  
'Because I'm dying,' whispered Snape, 'And when a wizard dies, his spells die with him.'

* * *

Thanks for the reviews everyone!

Melwasul: Relax! Absolutely NO slash in this story, not even Remus and Snape, although that idea that does make me go all warm and fuzzy...  
Lilith11: Glad you had a good holiday and still like the story. No comment about Snape and Tonks... ;D You'll have to wait and see!  
risi: Thank you thank you, and rest assured all your questions will be answered! (Eventually! ;D )  
LinZE: More MM definitely coming up :> Soonish...  
BekaJWP: *hugs* drive you insane? As if! *evil laugh* Yes indeed, 'tis Sev with the foreign accent... but as for the rest, you'll have to wait and see  
  
Everyone else: I love you all dearly and hope you continue to enjoy the story :D *large warm cuddles all round*   



	11. Chapter Eleven

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 11  
**  
  
Harry closed his eyes. When he opened them again it was to find himself staring at the ceiling of his room in Grimmauld Place, dimly lit by a street lamp outside the window. He blinked into the gloom feeling momentarily disorientated. Then he sat up and groped for his glasses, wide awake.  
  
The hall outside his room was bright enough for him to check his watch and see that it was three o'clock in the morning. The house was silent and he wondered which room Snape was in; it seemed somehow unlikely he would still be lying on the kitchen table. He recognised the hall from the last time he had been here; the room he had shared with Ron was a couple of doors down from the one he was in now. He walked quietly towards it, thinking it as good a place as any to start, and knocked gently, not really knowing what he expected to happen. The door fell inwards under his touch and from inside he heard a woman gasp. He jumped back, embarrassed.  
  
'I'm so sorry!' he gasped as Tonks' face appeared at the door. 'I didn't realise you were in there. I was looking for someone else'  
  
Tonks smiled, her look of shock giving way to relief. 'It's OK Harry,' she whispered, 'you just made me jump, that's all. Do you want to come in and see him too?'  
  
Harry nodded, stunned by his success at the first try.   
  
Tonks led the way into a room which was brighter than Harry would have expected a sick room to be; but Snape was clearly in no state to complain. The contrast with the way he had looked in Harry's dream was almost as shocking as the sight of him on the moor had been. He looked clean under the blankets which were drawn up to the middle of his chest, and the smell was gone; but his face looked old, battered and ugly, and the bandages covering his body from waist to neck seemed to accentuate his thinness. Curiously, it was the absence of all the greasy hair which was most unnerving, as if without it he had somehow ceased to be Severus Snape.  
  
'Is he going to die?' Harry asked.  
  
Tonks moved back around the bed to where she had evidently been sitting when Harry had knocked, and took Snape's battered hand in her own. 'Mad-Eye said he'll be alright,' she said in a croaky voice, and wiped away tears. 'Sorry,' she said helplessly.  
  
'It's OK,' said Harry. He gazed for a moment at the bandaged arm lying nearest him, with its ghost lying faint and still at the end of it. It was more difficult to see in the light, but he was interested to note that it too had long fingernails. The one Tonks was clutching had the same short nails hacked almost to the quick that Harry remembered from the Potions lessons; the only difference being that these were no longer stained and yellow. He pondered this for a moment, then went over to sit on the edge of the bed just behind Tonks.  
  
'Why are you crying if he's going to live?' he asked. It seemed strange enough that anyone would cry for Snape at all, but after the bizarre events of the past day and night, Harry felt as if nothing would surprise him ever again. He looked at the unconscious man on the bed and wondered if his soul was lurking somewhere in the back of his head right now, watching them and listening. Was he really dying? Could someone who could do the kind of magic Snape had claimed really die so easily?  
  
Tonks sniffled into a handkerchief, trying to blow her nose one-handed rather than let go of Snape. 'I don't know,' she mumbled. 'I just can't believe he's in this mess. I mean, look at him! What happened to do all this?'  
  
'Why do you care?'  
  
Tonks turned, wide-eyed, to stare at him. 'What do you mean?' she said, sounding shocked.  
  
Harry sighed, momentarily feeling almost too bored to answer. 'Well everyone I know hates his guts,' he replied, 'me included. I've never met anyone who'd actually miss him if he wasn't around any more.'  
  
Tonks' eyes filled with tears again. 'That's a terrible thing to say,' she cried. 'How can you say such a thing?'  
  
Harry rolled his eyes with exasperation. 'Because he treats me like dirt! Ever since he first saw me, he's gone out of his way to make my life miserable! He even tried to get me expelled in the second year! And it's not just me, he's nasty to everyone.' Harry glared at Tonks. 'Anyway, I don't believe he's going to die, whatever he says. People like him don't.'  
  
The spark of temper left Harry feeling depressed and tired, and he stared at his feet, not bothering to see how offended Tonks might be at his words. There was a silence punctuated by Tonks sniffing into her handkerchief; but now there was a decisive tenor to the sound, and the tears had dried up.  
  
'That is a disgraceful thing to say,' she said. 'How can you possibly justify what's happened to him, just because you got told off by him a few times at school? How can you imagine that it's anything like the same thing? Have you any idea how much he risks his life, for all of us? How can you be so spiteful and childish?'  
  
Harry looked up, stunned. Tonks glared back, lower lip trembling with grief and anger.  
  
'For your information, Harry Potter, Professor Snape was the best, most supportive, generous and sensitive teacher I ever had at Hogwarts! And not just me, everyone in his house! It didn't matter what you wanted or needed, he always did his best to help you. I wanted so much to be an Auror, and he helped me get through the exams and wrote a fantastic reference for me. I don't think I'd have been accepted otherwise.'  
  
Harry gazed blankly into space for a moment. 'You were in Slytherin House?'  
  
'Yes,' she said, her voice becoming stronger. 'It isn't a house exclusively for dark wizards, you know. In fact there are probably a few people who might have turned to You Know Who and haven't, thanks to Professor Snape's influence.'  
  
Harry stared at her. 'Oh,' he said. 'Well, that makes everything alright then, doesn't it? I mean, who cares that your cousin, who was locked up for fourteen years without a trial for a crime he didn't commit, just died a month ago? As long as wonderful Professor Snape isn't dead, that makes it quite alright, does it?'  
  
Tonks' face froze. Harry watched with a quiet feeling of satisfaction as an agonised kind of realisation flared in her eyes. There was a long silence in which they regarded each other eye to eye. Then Tonks spoke in a quiet voice.  
  
'Yes, you're right, it does. I don't know the words to use to explain to you why, but yes. As long as Professor Snape lives, I can handle the fact that Sirius didn't.'  
  
For one crystalline moment, Harry's brain seemed to shut down. Then a jumble of emotions crashed violently inside his head, and he swallowed, tears rising fast. He clenched his teeth, jumping up to leave the room; but Tonks moved faster, grabbing him round the waist and holding him tightly in a hug he did not want. He struggled, but Tonks was stronger than she looked, and as she pulled him back they both fell over, sliding against the side of Moody's bed onto the floor. Then suddenly it felt so much easier to give in, and Harry found he was hugging her back, hot tears falling uncontrollably. Tonks held him close as he sobbed, making soothing noises and stroking his hair.  
  


* * *

  
'I don't believe it,' Moody growled, anger burning in his normal eye. 'Frank would have told me if someone like Snape had willingly handed himself over, he knew I'd have given anything to talk to the little wretch.'  
  
'Obviously I cannot speak for Frank, and whatever he ultimately intended is beyond our knowledge now,' said Dumbledore. 'However, I do not believe he had any desire to deceive you, Alastor. We could not have expected or even hoped for the kind of opportunity which suddenly presented itself in the person of Severus Snape, personal assistant and archivist to Octavian Malfoy, and himself a Death Eater. Frank's suggestion that he become a spy for us was irresistible.'  
  
Moody slammed his fist down on the table with a crash which made them all jump. 'HOW DARE YOU take such a decision without me!' he roared. 'You let someone as young and inexperienced as Frank make a decision of that magnitude, without first seeking the advice of his superiors?'  
  
'He took my advice, Alastor,' Dumbledore replied quietly. 'That he discussed his plan with me instead of you is pure accident. I simply happened to choose that evening to visit them, and arrived shortly after Severus.   
  
'It was a dangerous idea, but one which we could not afford to reject. Severus could give us unparalleled access to Voldemort's plans. And of all people, he had precisely the talents necessary to make such a dangerous course of action possible.  
  
'I decided that it would be best for all concerned if the only people who knew of Severus' defection were myself and the Longbottoms. Unfortunately, this meant we had to let the Malfoys go. There was no opportunity for us to discuss this with you; there simply was no time. I am sorry, Alastor.'  
  
The colour had risen nastily in Moody's face, and he trembled with fury. 'No time,' he growled. 'This boy, this dangerous little boy who was practically adopted by Lucius Malfoy, just suddenly has a change of heart and wants to make good? Are you completely mad? If he as our spy could give us unparalleled access to Voldemort, what the hell could that give Voldemort? And you decided there was no time to discuss it?' Now Moody was on his feet, his voice rising to a shout. 'Damn you, what gave you the RIGHT?'  
  
' so it was a bad spell then?' Shacklebolt's voice quietly incised the loaded silence as Moody glared down at Dumbledore.  
  
'Not as such,' McGonagall replied, her voice shaking slightly. Moody was breathing deeply, his hands clenched. Dumbledore said nothing, his face impassive, but he no longer met Moody's angry gaze.  
  
Aberforth, who had made no contribution to the conversation since he arrived, cleared his throat.   
  
'It's been a long day,' he said mildly. 'Why don't we all turn in for the night and discuss this in the morning when we've had a bit of a rest? After all, Snape's not going anywhere, and you must admit, Alastor, apart from some confusion surrounding the particulars of what happened one night fourteen years ago, there's no real reason to suspect that Snape is not one of us is there?'  
  
Moody scowled, then turned and stumped out of the kitchen. Shacklebolt whistled quietly.   
  
'I knew he didn't like Snape, but I didn't realise it was as bad as that,' he said. 'Look much as I would like to, I can't come back tomorrow – ' he glanced at his watch ' – or rather, later today, to hear the rest of this story.' He gazed hopefully at the three wizards on the other side of the table. 'Please won't you tell me what happened?'  
  
McGonagall pursed her lips and looked at Dumbledore. Aberforth grinned. Dumbledore smiled gently and gave another sigh. 'It has been a long day,' he said quietly. 'And I wonder if, just at this moment, the world contains a few too many secrets.'   
  
He looked deep into Shacklebolt's eyes, weighing him up. Shacklebolt met his gaze, willingly laying his mind open to the Headmaster; and as he did so, he perceived a note of pain and sadness buried beneath the gentle smile. 'You do seem to know quite a lot already, Kingsley,' Dumbledore said softly. 'If we were to assuage your terrible curiosity, would we have your word that what we tell you would go no further? No reports to the Ministry, no confidences to colleagues, friends or other members of the Order, however trusted they may be?'  
  
Shacklebolt nodded, his expression grave. 'I give you my word,' he said. 'I need to know. Maybe Malfoy wasn't the only one who knew about Snape and wanted his power? If I know what actually happened, then maybe I'll know what I'm looking for before I find it. After all, someone in the Ministry wants him, don't they? We're assuming it's one of You Know Who's spies; but it could just be that someone else is after him.'  
  
McGonagall nodded more decisively and looked at Dumbledore for affirmation. Dumbledore nodded. 'Very well,' he said. 'Minerva will tell you everything you need to know. Good luck to you both.'  
  
Shacklebolt smiled and got to his feet. McGonagall stood up, giving Dumbledore's shoulder a squeeze as she passed him. Albus and Aberforth watched them leave the kitchen together, sitting in silence until after they heard the front door close.  
  
'Are you alright?' Aberforth enquired quietly.  
  
Albus sighed and looked down at the book on the table. 'I feel very old, Abe,' he said. 'Alastor was right. I did take a significant decision which put three young people in terrible danger. Now one's dead, one's dying, and one will never leave St. Mungo's. Perhaps if I had at least let him know what was going on, there would have been a different outcome.'  
  
'Come now, Albus. You took the only decision you could in the circumstances. It was very clear by that time that the Longbottoms and the Potters were specific targets, and just as clear that we were losing. And we _were_ losing, Albus. We'd got to the point where we hardly trusted each other because we knew we had a traitor, and they were butchering us. Severus was the answer to a prayer. I can't understand why Alastor is so determined to believe the worst of him; if he hadn't been on our side, the end would have been a damn sight sooner, and we'd be mourning a lot more people, assuming we would still be here to mourn.  
  
'We both know that he had nothing to do with what happened. I don't know how come he couldn't do anything to save them, but don't doubt their baby would have been killed if he hadn't got there when he did. Alastor might rage at you because he's upset about Alice and Frank, but a question one might reasonably ask is, why did it take Alastor and his Aurors as long as it did to get there at all?'  
  
Dumbledore closed his eyes wearily. 'We played a dangerous game. We exploited Severus. There is no other word for it. But it is Alice and Frank – and Neville – who have paid for it.'  
  
Aberforth put an arm around his brother's shoulders, empathising with the anguish in the old man's voice. 'What would you have done instead, Albus? Let Severus waste away in Azkaban while the Death Eaters finished annihilating us?'  
  
'Voldemort did not fall because I spared Severus.'  
  
'How do you know that? Maybe he did. Maybe he fell, because Lily spent her formative years in the care of a man who believes that nobody is irredeemable. That even the most misguided and corrupt have something worthwhile in them if they're given a chance to express it. That everyone deserves love and respect, just because they're people, not because they've earned it in some way?  
  
'Because that's what brought down Voldemort. Not magical power, but true, unconditional love. The kind of love that you believe in, Albus. The kind of love that gave Severus his chance to make up for the things he'd done.'  
  


* * *

  
It felt like hours before Harry managed to regain control of his emotions. He felt exhausted, confused and depressed, as if the purgative experience on the moor had never happened. He rested his head on Tonks' shoulder and gazed hopelessly into the middle distance, dimly grateful for the warmth of her body against his.   
  
'Why did Sirius have to die?' he whispered. 'He didn't even have a proper life. It's not fair!'  
  
'I know,' she whispered back, her voice sounding as hoarse and strained as his. 'All those wasted years, no chance of any normal life, knowing one his best friends had been sold out by another. And knowing that everyone thought he had murdered them. He didn't even get the chance to clear his name.' Now the hot tears were coming from above him, soaking through his hair. He tightened his arms around her, suddenly wanting to comfort as deeply as he had previously wanted to hurt.  
  
They held each other in silence as the light in the room was gradually augmented by the dawn outside. Harry felt Tonks shift slightly so she could move her arm, and then the artificial light of the room was extinguished, leaving them in the cold dim light of day break.  
  
'Was Snape really nice to you?' he asked. They shifted into a more comfortable position against the side of Moody's bed, and Tonks put her arm around Harry so he could rest his head on her shoulder again.  
  
'Yes. To everyone. I know, he favoured his own house over everyone else, but he wasn't soft on us or anything. He was just I don't know, he was just _there_, and the world just felt like a better place because he was in it.  
  
'I don't know how he managed it really, but he always seemed to know everyone, seemed to understand anything that was going wrong for them, and always managed to do something to make life better in some way. Even it was favouring them over people from other houses. I suppose that was a bit unfair, but he made people feel special, when maybe they didn't otherwise.'  
  
An image of Snape decked out in the Slytherin House colours for a Quidditch match flitted past Harry's mind's eye.  
  
'He used to come into the common room at least once a week and see how people were getting on, especially the first years. Lots of homesick people who felt a bit less lonely because the Head of House was taking an interest. It wasn't like he was trying to be cool and everyone's best friend – in some ways he was quite distant. It was more like he made sure you knew he was there and that everything was all right. And that you could go to him any time you wanted to if you needed someone to talk to.'  
  
'Sounds nice,' said Harry distantly. He couldn't remember Professor McGonagall coming into the Gryffindor Common Room on more than a couple of official occasions; but then he couldn't remember a time when he had felt that her presence was lacking.  
  
They sat in silence for a while, then Tonks suddenly spoke. 'Harry,' she said in a thoughtful voice, 'what did you mean when you said you didn't believe he was going to die?'  
  
Then the bedroom door was flung open with a crash that made them both jump.

  


* * *

  
samson, Aredhel Tasartir, Athena Keating-Thomas, Barbara Kennedy, BekaJWP, KniteKat, IntelEwok, fanfiction fanatic, Melwasul, Lilith11, ataraxis, & amyaggie:

Thank you all very very much for your reviews! *hugs* *cuddles* *large boxes of chocolates all round* 

Everyone who doesn't want Snape to die: Oh all right then, if you insist. LOL No he isn't going to die, and yes there is a reason for the mess he's in - all very germane to the story I'm telling, and all will be revealed. Eventually ;p (Lilith11: Oh yes! ;p)

Barbara Kennedy: Sorry about the alert thingie - it's because I previously had an "intermission" chapter, before I discovered writing to people on the end of the chapters. How dim am I?! Then I deleted it and reposted the whole thing minus the "intermission" over Christmas when I was feeling creative. Looking forward to reading the rest of your fics, although I'm so obsessed with mine at the mo, I've not read many other people's at all. Hope your creative muse is feeling as energetic as mine these days ;D

I'm especially pleased that people liked the dreamscape - that was more or less the first part of this fic that I wrote, because the idea of what people might say to each other, if they could go somewhere *else*, fascinates me. I sort of imagine it could be rather like internet chatrooms, where you have the mental space for people to interact, but no concept of how they look or who they are in the "real-world" to warp your opinions of them. There will be more.

Crookykanks: Dunno if you're still out there, but I'm giving the unsigned review thing another try. Had another look at my settings and realised my email address isn't actually displayed, so it must have just been coincidence. Hope you're well, wherever you are *hugs*


	12. Chapter Twelve

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 12  
**  
  
Moody glowered at them both from the doorway. He had never seemed a particularly large man before, but now as he stood there, silhouetted by the light of the hallway beyond, Harry was struck by how completely he filled the frame. He looked extremely angry.  
  
Tonks recovered first. 'Hi Mad-Eye,' she said lightly, 'everything OK? Professor Snape hasn't woken up or anything' Her voice tailed off in the silence. Moody took a deep breath, then stumped into the room.  
  
'Thanks,' he said curtly. 'You'd better go, I need to give him another infusion. Take Potter with you.'  
  


* * *

  
  
Moody watched them hurry out, then slammed the door behind them. He took another deep breath, trying to calm himself. Then he turned to the room, raising the lights with a flick of his wand.  
  
He thought about the night the Longbottoms' minds were ripped apart by a gang of Death Eaters. He thought about a carpet soaked with blood, furniture smashed, the far wall scored with lines like claw-marks. He thought about Frank Longbottom, a gifted wizard and a handsome, generous man who had never let personal feelings get in the way of his duty, never let the horrors he had seen tempt him to violence. He thought about Alice, her pretty, innocent face, her lovely smile, and her astonishing mind.  
  
And he thought about a thin, hook-nosed youth standing in the middle of the carnage, two fine people lying as if dead at his feet, their infant son in his arms, wand poised. The look of anger and hatred on the boy's face had been horrible. Moody had seen many terrible things during his years as an Auror, but those needle-sharp eyes had blazed with an inhuman darkness that had been truly chilling.   
  
Now, fourteen years later, the creature who had pointed his wand at a baby and forced Moody to release him was a cadaverous wreck, helpless and vulnerable in Moody's possession. And still he was trying to escape, this time in the most final way of all.   
  
Moody leaned over the gaunt body, reaching out with trembling hands to touch the man's throat, feeling for the pulse. It was steady, but slow, very slow. He slid his fingers around the neck, pushing the jaw to one side with his thumb, and leaned down to whisper in Snape's ear:  
  
'I know you're guilty, you bastard. Don't think for one minute I'm going to let you go this time. You're mine. And you _will_ live to account yourself to me, if I have to fight Death himself for you.'   
  


* * *

  
  
Tonks looked startled as the bedroom door banged shut behind them. 'Someone's in a bad mood,' she muttered. Harry said nothing. He felt as if he really needed another eight hours sleep, and he couldn't care less about Moody.  
  
A door further down the corridor opened. Lupin's tousled head appeared around the frame, peering blearily at them with bloodshot eyes. 'What is all the racket about?' he asked.  
  
Tonks chuckled. 'Oh dear, Remus, got a hangover? You and Harry both look like you could do with a strong coffee.'  
  
Lupin dragged himself out of the room with a yawn. 'Sounds good,' he said, stretching.  
  
Harry said nothing, pulling off his glasses so he could rub his eyes. 'Um, no thanks,' he said, 'I think I'll just go back to bed, if that's alright.'  
  
Lupin smiled and Tonks gave him a hug. 'OK then,' she said. 'You get some rest and we'll wake you up in a couple of hours with breakfast, how does that sound?'  
  
'Great,' said Harry, forcing a smile, 'see you later.'  
  
He pushed open his door and slid inside, suddenly unbearably tired and wanting to be alone.  
  
Tonks watched the door close with concern, but Lupin took her hand and pulled her gently in the direction of the stairs. 'He'll be all right,' he said softly. 'He just needs some time to come to terms with everything.'  
  


* * *

  
  
The room was cast with the dim light of dawn, but the first thing Harry saw when he closed the door was Hedwig fluttering towards him from the top of the wardrobe. He felt a rush of gratitude that she had found him as she landed on his shoulder, hooting gently. Some thoughtful person had brought him his trunk, and it was pushed neatly against the end of his bed. He sat down on it with his owl, who nibbled his ear affectionately as he stroked her and whispered apologies for leaving her behind.   
  
Hedwig was heavy, and after a while Harry eased her off his shoulder and onto the bedstead, where she promptly put her head under her wing and fell asleep. He gave her feathers another caress, then opened his trunk and foraged for pyjamas.  
  
A creaking noise from somewhere behind him made Harry turn sharply. He scanned the shadows, wondering if Kreacher was lurking out there somewhere, and stood up scowling.  
  
'Alright,' he said, 'I don't care what you think you're doing, you can get out of my room right now.' He advanced on the noise, knuckles whitening around his wand. Now there seemed a deeper tinge of silence just behind the wardrobe, as if someone was hiding there and holding their breath. He moved around to confront the intruder – and his jaw dropped.  
  
'Please Harry Potter sir, do not let anyone know Dobby is here!' hissed the Dobby the former house elf, holding a long thin finger to his lips. 'It has taken Dobby hours to find his way, sir, and he does not want the one-eyed wizard to find him!'  
  
Harry knelt down in front of the little creature. 'It's alright,' he whispered, 'I won't give you away. But what are you doing here?' He smiled at the anxious elf. 'It's nice to see you though.'  
  
Dobby's face lit up briefly, but his huge green eyes looked worried. 'Dobby has come to find Severus Snape, sir. Dobby went with him to the moor to save you, sir, but when the other wizards came, Dobby had to hide. When they went away, Severus Snape had gone too. Dobby had great trouble finding him, sir!'  
  
'Well you're a bit off target,' said Harry, 'Snape's in the room next door. And Moody's in there with him,' he added hastily as Dobby ran out from behind the wardrobe. The elf stopped in his tracks, his ears drooping as he gazed back at Harry with a sad look on his face.  
  
'Dobby must find Severus Snape and take him home, sir,' Dobby whispered, coming back to Harry. 'Severus Snape was doing something important when he went to find you, sir, and he has to finish it, or something terrible will happen!'  
  
'What do you mean?'  
  
The elf wrung his little hands with indecision. 'Dobby has promised not to tell anyone, sir, not even his friend Harry Potter.'  
  
Harry sighed. 'OK,' he said. 'What about, why are you helping Snape? Are you allowed to tell me that?'  
  
Dobby seemed to relax a bit. 'Severus Snape asked Dobby to go with him when he left Hogwarts, sir. Severus Snape was kind to Dobby when they both served Dobby's old Master. And when Severus Snape told Dobby he was going to help Dobby's friend Harry Potter, sir, Dobby immediately agreed to help him!'  
  
Not another Snape fan, thought Harry quizzically. Oh well. 'Snape's very badly hurt,' he said, 'what happened to him? What happened to his arm?'  
  
Dobby's ears drooped a bit further, and a more fearful look entered his eyes. 'Severus Snape had been bad, sir, and he had to punish himself. It was terrible, sir, Dobby thought he might die. And he cut off his arm, sir, because he said the Dark Mark would stop him finishing his spell.'  
  
Harry frowned. 'He said he cast a charm to keep Vol-' the elf winced, 'sorry, You Know Who out of my head. Why should the Dark Mark stop him doing that?'  
  
'Oh no, sir, he made that spell as soon as we arrived in his home. His first thought was to protect Harry Potter, sir!' A quick smile crossed the little elf's face but disappeared as he continued. 'No, sir, there is another spell Severus Snape must cast before he may die, sir. A very complex spell-'  
  
The sound of the front door slamming in the distance interrupted them. Dobby looked apprehensively from the bedroom door to Harry.   
  
'Why don't you want anyone to see you?' Harry asked.  
  
'Severus Snape warned Dobby that the one-eyed wizard hates him, sir, and would try to stop him. Dobby remembers the one-eyed wizard from when he used to come to see Dobby's old master, sir. Dobby and Severus Snape is afraid of him, sir.'  
  
'Yeah,' Harry mumbled, thinking of how Moody had burst into Snape's room earlier, 'don't blame you.' He yawned as sleep threatened to overwhelm him. 'Look, Dobby, I don't think you'll be able to take Snape anywhere. He looked practically dead when I saw him earlier, and I get the feeling Moody isn't letting him out of his sight.' He got up and went back to his trunk, pulling out his pyjamas and sitting on the side of the bed to put them on. Hedwig slept on without stirring on the bedstead. Dobby hopped up to stand on the eiderdown next to him.  
  
'Harry Potter looks very tired,' he commented, reaching a tiny hand to Harry's forehead. 'Maybe Harry Potter could tell Severus Snape that Dobby has not deserted him?'  
  
Harry peered blankly at the elf. 'What?'  
  
Dobby's face crinkled into a knowing smile. 'Severus Snape told Dobby how the charm works, sir. Severus Snape said that the charm might open a shared space between you if you were both to sleep deeply at the same time.'  
  
Harry's eyelids were becoming heavier by the minute. 'You mean I'm going to see him again,' he mumbled, and tried feebly to move the heavy blankets so he could get under them. Dobby snapped his fingers, and the blankets moved aside by themselves, enveloping Harry as he slid into bed. 'Why?' he mumbled. 'Why did he do it? He hates me.'   
  
'Severus Snape says Harry Potter has nothing but unhappiness and bad memories, sir,' replied Dobby, his orb-like eyes shining at him over the edge of the bed. 'Severus Snape told Dobby he would create a place of solace for Harry Potter, to protect him from He Who Must Not Be Named.'

  


* * *

Dear Everyone, thank you very much for your kind words! Raving ego-maniac that I am, it does keep me going! Frogfoot24 in particular - I just glowed when I read what you wrote! Thank you!

Glad you liked the idea of Tonks being a Slytherin. I agree with you, IntelEok - there's too many Gryffindors filling the place already! And making her a Slytherin is a handy little plot device :D

Barbara Kennedy - thank you! And yeah, Fanfiction.net has been a bit strange this week, I've read all my reviews on here way before they appeared in my inbox. But there's been another rather vicious round of email virusing this week, so maybe that's why. So pleased you're checking back regardless of the alerts... 

Leviathan, Beka, Ewok, Aredhel, Ataraxis, Lilith - more hugs and chocolate all round!

Hmmm, maybe I should just say a group thanks to everyone - I'm starting to sound like I'm at the Oscars, how pathetic... ;> 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 13  
**  
  
The sand was soft and fine, yet firm beneath his bare feet. Harry sat down, trailing his hand through it, enjoying the silken feel. He wondered at Dobby's words. All this had been created for him? He drew a deep, slow breath, drinking in a fresh scent of sea salt, carried by clean, cool air. His mind felt clear; all the pain and exhaustion had gone.  
  
He tried thinking about Sirius, and pictured him the last time he had seen him; long black hair streaming around a strong face that would never be ugly, even with the flesh melted away by years of imprisonment. _I miss you_, Harry thought; but the agony he had experienced while awake was here no more than a muted regret. He pulled his knees up under his chin, hugging them as he gazed out to sea.  
  
He had no idea what to make of what Dobby had said. Snape had told him the charm would keep Voldemort out, but he had said nothing about bad memories or unhappiness. What did that have to do with anything? Shutting them out so you could close you mind was obviously difficult if there was a lot of them; but Harry had lots of happy memories too; the years he had spent at Hogwarts had been the happiest of his life. Maybe if Snape had taken some time to explain exactly how one was supposed to shut one's mind, then Harry would have had more success. And then Sirius would still  
  
It was like warm water being poured over a sudden flare of heat in the back of his mind. Anger leapt up and died immediately, a peculiar tranquillity taking its place. As if Sirius' death was of no consequence; as if it didn't matter. Anger flared again at the total invasion of his mind that Snape's charm represented. Blot out the pain and the emotions so the Dark Lord can't get in. Then you can close your mind and cease to be a threat to us. Like Snape of all people should care about Harry's unhappiness and bad memories! And again the anger was dampened; but this time into an itchy sense of irritation. That was interesting. In here, he was still able to feel negative emotions towards Snape, reduced though they were.  
  
Harry got up. There were questions he needed to ask, and he wasn't going to get the answers down here staring at the sea.  
  


* * *

  
  
Alastor Moody stared down at his patient. It was more than a day since he had last slept, but the adrenalin from last night's meeting had fired him with too much energy to allow him rest now. In any case, Snape needed a _vitalis_ infusion every three hours, so he would have time for nothing more than a nap. Might as well get on with it.  
  
The bandages on Snape's back were stiff, and he cut them away piece by piece rather than attempt unwrapping them. The flesh underneath was so mangled that the main job would be separating the muscle tissue from skin, but once that was done, healing would be the work of a few minutes. Until then however, Moody reckoned he had a good few hours fiddly work ahead of him.   
  
Outside, the light matured into a warm summer morning. Snipping away gently at the bandages, Moody felt himself relax.   
  
In the early days of his wizarding career, Moody had trained as a Healer. He had found something infinitely rewarding in taking away pain and distress and seeing the return of health and strength; in taking something broken and mending it. How idealistic he had been back then, and what a simple view of the world he had had. His naivety had lasted until the first time he saw the kind of damage that could be wrought by dark magic. Of course he had known about that kind of thing, had read case histories and written exam papers; but somehow he had never truly believed that any human being could actually intend such violence on another. Young Moody's world view had been fractured at its very core, and from that day on he had pursued his vocation with an increasing sense of futility until finally he abandoned his career as a Healer and retrained as an Auror.   
  
Now he was calling on that early training from the days when he believed the world was a nice place, and it was unexpectedly soothing. Face down on the mattress, his shaved head turned away and a clean white sheet wrapped around his lower half, Snape could be anyone, and Moody found his anger melting in the presence of a deeper, older desire to heal the wounded. The complexity of the damage absorbed him; some healing had already taken place, melding muscle with skin, and that needed taking carefully apart, like unpicking a badly sewn seam.   
  
The injury itself was unusual, and the Auror stood next the Healer in Moody's head as he worked. His magical eye roamed the site of the damage, assessing and analysing while his normal eye focused on whichever tiny area he was currently working on.   
  
Clearly this had been some kind of whip, something like the cat o' nine tails to cause this shape of wound. All the strokes had come from the same direction, and they had been concentrated mainly on the space between his shoulder blades, although one or two livid tendrils ended just above his hips. Moody grimaced; even with an ordinary scourge that would have been agonising. But this particular weapon had been a bit more special than that, and again something of the ancient muggle world was called to mind.   
  
A normal cat o' nine tails wouldn't pull muscle through flesh. It could open your back if applied with enough force, but the friction usually cauterised the edges. But for the truly sadistic, there was a nasty variation, and in Moody's recollection, the Romans had been fond of this one. Along the length of each frond of the whip would be plaited pieces of glass. When that hit fragile human flesh, it cut straight through to the bone and came back pulling muscle. An obscene, monstrous device. In spite of his feelings for Snape, in spite of his certainty that the wounds were self-inflicted, Moody felt a sudden stab of pity. What on earth would induce anyone to do such a thing to himself?   
  
Guilt? Moody paused, interrupted by an unexpected idea. For fourteen years he had kept the hideous image of Snape in the Longbottoms' living room encapsulated at the back of his mind, utterly convinced that Snape had been involved in that atrocity, and incredulous at Dumbledore's trust in the man. Could this be it? Was it possible that Snape felt such remorse for his unpunished crimes, that he would seek to punish himself?  
  
And yet he had run away when the Ministry finally decided to arrest him. Frank's death a fortnight ago had been the reason the Ministry had finally decided to ignore Dumbledore's evidence exonerating him. Presumably it was Frank's death that had precipitated this. So why not just give himself up? The Roman scourge was lethal; Moody had trouble believing that anyone prepared to undergo something like that could possibly fear death in the slightest. In any case, the work he had done for the Order would have probably seen his sentence commuted. So why run?  
  
Moody paused suddenly, reaching across to grab Snape's remaining hand for a closer look. If someone else had done this to him, presumably he would have been restrained; were there any signs of rope burns? No. There were a couple of scars across the fingers as if he had held his arms defensively over his head. Moody flinched at the sudden mental image of Snape's scrawny body crouched naked on the floor while this vile whip had torn his back to shreds. He sat back as the word floated through his mind again.   
  


* * *

  
  
Harry ran up to the room in which Snape waited, defiantly holding onto his annoyance. Staying angry was important. The anger belonged to him and he refused to let Snape take it away; but the closer he got to Snape's dream-room, the more comforted he felt; it was like a cloying hug from an unwelcome relative. It felt, now he thought about it, rather like being under the Imperious curse in that Defence Against The Dark Arts class long ago, this warm sense of everything being right with the world. And he was fighting it, just as he had back then.   
  
The door was half open when he got there. Without pausing in his flight, Harry put out a hand to push it the rest of the way open, intending to run straight through. Instead he hit it with a crash and collapsed.   
  
Unsurprisingly, the impact caused no damage or pain, and only a slight sense of foolishness. But the shock had broken his concentration, and as he got up, a sense of calm told him he had lost the battle to retain his anger. He gave the door a puzzled look as he slid past it, and looked around for Snape.  
  
Snape was sitting on the floor with his back to the room, in front of the vast window overlooking the bay. The stars were as breath-taking as before, although there were dark clouds drifting across the moon, obscuring its light But while Snape seemed arrested by the majestic view, Harry was pulled up short by something else.  
  
Snape's hair was beautiful. Long, luxuriant and as black as the night outside, it fell like a shining cloak to trail on the floor behind him. Long elegant fingers were wound into the radiant locks, and Harry could see the perfect nails gleaming against the darkness. It suddenly occurred to him that this Neverland, by its nature, had to be more than just a place of solace for him. He thought about the ugly, greasy-haired man who had taught him Potions for five years, and wondered if Snape knew how unappealing he was and wanted to be attractive. This whole place was a dream, a fantasy. Was this Snape's fantasy of himself?   
  
Harry drew closer. Snape seemed as unaware of his presence as he had before, and this, now Harry thought about it, was odd. Snape had never missed Harry's presence in the real world, and this place had supposedly been created just for him. Surely he should be twice as sensitive to him in here?  
  
But then he realised that Snape was too preoccupied to notice him, or anything else at that moment. Snape was crying. 

  


* * *

Hi lovely reviewers! Thanks for the shiny reviews! (and "hi" anyone else reading but reserving comment ;) Go on - say something nice, you know you want to! ;D ) 

Erm, I feel a tad silly after everything I wrote last week, and despite not actually going as far as thanking my mum and breaking down in tears, I think I went a bit over the top. Reading it back this week, in fact, it sounds like two different people - the author and the headcase thanking people at the end! So I'll be a bit more dignified this week and restrain myself ;D 

Kateri1, Aredhel, Raphaelle, Khamul, moni and zimo: Thank you all lots! 

Barbara: I'm glad Fanfiction seems to be fixed too! Apparently they had a server problem... Glad the chapter answered questions and posed new ones. Just what I'd hoped :) 

Frogfoot24: Thank you so much! But no, Moody's not the spy, that was Peter "Wormtail" Pettigrew. Nobody knew it was him until Sirius broke out of jail in Prisoner of Azkaban. But of course, that doesn't necessarily mean he was the only spy...

BekaJWP: Yep, the line about Moody fighting Death for Snape made me grin when I wrote it and every time I read it :D ...

Lilith11: ... glad you see Moody as the slightly obsessed but honourable type. That's how I see him and how I was hoping to portray him. Thank you so much for your comments. :)

Knitekatz: Don't be too concerned about the "D" word. I love Snapey far too much.

LinZE: Glad to see you again! And thanks a lot! And... MM will be getting a chapter soonish... with the emphasis on the -ish... ;)

Ataraxis: Bear with Moody, he may yet prove himself ;>


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 14  
**  
  
Harry stopped a few feet away, wondering what to do. Snape wept quietly, the soft keening of a tired, lonely child. Harry swallowed. The sound spoke to him of a time before words, when memories were recorded as nothing more than the permutations of emotion. Inexpressible, almost irretrievable but always there, buried in his subconscious, of a time when he had reached out for the comfort of a parent and encountered nothing but the indifference of his aunt and uncle. The inner tranquillity that had accompanied him from the beach was still here, but now he found there were lines of ice reaching up through it, fracturing it.  
  
'Don't cry,' he whispered. 'Please. Please stop it.'  
  
He crouched down in front of Snape. The black hair shrouded his face as it always had; but in here it looked soft and silky. After a moment's hesitation, Harry reached out and brushed it aside. Snape's other hand was fastened over his face, and the tears slid through his fingers unabated as if Harry wasn't there.  
  
Harry felt a peculiar sense of panic began to rise. He had to do something, anything, make him stop; but he didn't know how. In desperation he grabbed the boy's shoulders and shook him.  
  
Snape's hands fell away from his face and hair. To Harry's astonishment, he no longer looked eighteen, but much, much younger. For one shocked moment Snape stopped crying – then he gave a wail and flung himself into Harry's arms.  
  
Harry froze in consternation. The ice in his head was receding. He put his arms around the shaking body and squeezed; a surge of warmth and contentment swelled inside his mind. Snape pressed his cheek against Harry's shoulder and continued to cry, but the room no longer seemed as dark. Harry exhaled slowly with relief as the chill diminished, and let his head fall onto Snape's shoulder.  
  


* * *

  
  
Moody resumed his work with more urgency, and by the time Snape's next infusion was due, he had succeeded in healing the shallower areas of damage on his back. The biggest challenge were the injuries between his shoulder blades, an area which on closer examination turned out to be virtually pulverised; he suspected that some areas of tissue would have to be excised altogether and re-grown. This was not beyond him, but it would mean consulting a few books if he was to get it right. Moody was very keen to get it right. A number of diverse theories were competing in his head; but the only way he was going to find out what Snape had been up to was to wake him up and ask him. Of getting answers at that point he foresaw no problems; a bottle of _veritaserum_ with Snape's name on it had been safely tucked away in his trunk for almost a fortnight. But forcing him to wake up before he was ready could prove fatal.  
  
Moody dressed the remaining injuries then allowed himself the indulgence of a few moments' pride in his work. By the end of the week, there would be only the faintest of scars to indicate those terrible wounds, and that was no mean feat. All the vital signs were strong as well, although there was a slight clamminess to the skin which was vaguely worrying. No matter. He gave Snape another _vitalis_ infusion, then rolled him onto his back and tucked him up, feeling almost cheerful. He decided to spend the afternoon reading some relevant texts, then make a fresh start the following day.  
  
He had just settled down on his own bed with a pile of books when there was a soft knock at the door. 'Come in?' he said.  
  
Tonks and Lupin came in, and Moody softened as he saw the girl's nervous expression. 'Sorry if I was a bit short with you earlier, Tonks,' he said. 'Conversation downstairs got a bit heated.'  
  
Tonks smiled. 'It's OK, Mad-Eye,' she replied. 'I think we're all feeling a bit emotional just now.' Her face clouded for a moment, and Moody felt a rush of sympathy.   
  
'Professor Snape's going to be fine, love. Might be a while before he's capable of talking to anyone, but I promise you he's going to live.'  
  
Tonks grinned, relief visible in her eyes. Lupin smiled and looked momentarily happier than Moody had seen him in a while. Interesting. Over the last year he had occasionally wondered why Lupin so resolutely refused to be put off by Snape's unequivocal unfriendliness. Shacklebolt's contribution to the previous night's meeting crossed his mind; Lupin and Snape had been at school together. Had they been friends once? If so, what had gone wrong?  
  
'We wondered if you'd like something to eat?' said Lupin. 'Harry's still asleep, but we thought we'd have some lunch. Dumbledore and Aberforth have both left, although Aberforth said he'd come back tonight after he's closed the pub.'  
  
Moody smiled. 'Sounds good. Snape should be fine by himself for half an hour or so.' He closed his book and turned to the empty frame on the wall. 'Phineas!' There was no answer. Moody frowned and got up, going over the portrait and rapping on the frame as he called again. After some minutes, Phineas Nigellus appeared, a bored frown on his aristocratic features. 'Yes?' he enquired acidly.  
  
'Keep an eye on Snape for me,' said Moody. 'If there's any change, let me know, I'll be in the kitchen.'  
  
Phineas Nigellus' face gave a contemptuous twitch, but he settled himself in his frame and said no more.  
  
With a last look at Snape, Moody, Tonks and Lupin went out.  
  


* * *

  
  
Harry could not recall any time in his life in which he had shared such an embrace with another human being. It was utterly unlike the time, only a little while ago, when he had been sobbing in Tonks' arms. That had been horrible: all his pain beating him down combined with a sickening sense of exposure in letting someone else see it happen. Of Tonks he had been almost unaware, his agony had so engulfed him.  
  
This was different. Never before had Harry experienced the kind of peace he was feeling now. They rested silently in each others' arms, Harry gazing placidly out at the stars. The moon once more occupied a cloudless sky, and the planes of the roughly carven walls were soothed by its light. He hugged the child in his arms closer, and felt his own sense of being comforted increase. He stroked the long black hair and enjoyed a novel sense of protectiveness, of bringing comfort to someone weaker and more helpless than himself. He felt the joy rise with rough edges, bringing him to tears. He felt the child in his arms hug back, reaching slender arms around his waist, and he closed his eyes in bliss. The emotions rising in him now made him imagine that this was how it might have felt if his mother had held him, had he ever dared dream such a thing. He realised he never had. In the long years he had spent watching another child being lavished with the love he had been denied, he had never allowed himself to want, or to dream of what having might be like. He closed his eyes tight on sudden tears, but the pain was sweet.  
  
He felt the warm body move against him as if to rise, and he tightened his grip with a slight whimper as he slipped against the silken fabric of Snape's robe. He pressed his face into the man's chest, felt strong arms supporting him, felt himself being lifted. He kept his eyes closed and imagined it was his father holding him, carrying him away from the window overlooking the universe and over to the rugs in front of the vast fire. He nestled in the lap of the man now sitting cross-legged at the hearth and holding him close; and the silky black hair fell around them both like a veil.   
  
Then Harry gave a sigh and let himself gently slide out of Snape's embrace to sit opposite him in the deep fur of the hearthrug. He felt utterly calm; no longer filled with any kind of strong emotion, but simply complete and at peace. He looked up into the face of a young man who was only a year or two older than himself, but in whose eyes lay a depth of experience Harry had yet to know.   
  
Snape bowed his head with a troubled expression, his arms resting on his knees and his narrow fingers pressed together so the long nails curved towards Harry. There was silence. Then Harry spoke.  
  
'Dobby says he hasn't deserted you.'  
  
The lines of Snape's face seemed to soften. Harry let his gaze fall to the rug. 'Why were you crying?' he whispered. 'I don't understand. If this place is place of solace'  
  
'Our minds are joined by the charm. I am sharing your pain. You are sharing my peace. But the room in which we are now sitting isn't part of it,' Snape replied quietly. 'You are deeply asleep, and I am in a coma. We are sharing an illusion created as a by-product of the charm because – and only because – my soul is giving up its hold on my body. When I die, all this will disappear and you will be back inside your own head.  
  
Harry gazed into space, shaking his head in disbelief. 'Why have you done this for me? I thought you hated me! I can't believe you're dying'  
  
There was a silence in which Snape seemed to be collecting his thoughts. Then he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly.  
  
'Occlumency – and all magic of its type – relies on the ability of the wizard to calm his mind utterly, for only then is he the true master of his power. Any emotion you cannot bring under your control will, at best, ruin your work. At worst, it will be used against you. Any strong emotion can be turned thus, but negative emotion is particularly dangerous, for when the mind is distressed, it is vulnerable and more easily attacked.  
  
'You have discovered, as have all those beginning the study of Occlumency, that clearing your mind of emotion when you are preoccupied by questions and anxieties is extremely difficult. Most people circumvent this difficulty by invoking pleasant memories to comfort themselves into a state of calm. Once this is done successfully, it only requires practice to empty the mind completely.  
  
'You believed I used the Occlumency lessons to make you suffer. This is not not true. I merely subjected you to the kind of attack you may expect from someone skilled in Legilimency; but I was examining your mind while doing so.'  
  
Snape paused, biting his lip, and turned his face towards the fire.  
  
'After a few lessons I realised you would be unable to master Occlumency sufficiently to keep out the Dark Lord. You have the magical ability, but you do not have the mental strength.'  
  
'I'm not weak. You enjoyed making me suffer,' Harry stated blankly. 'You made me angry on purpose.'  
  
'I believed you were like James,' Snape replied, and his voice suddenly sounded small. 'The first time I ever saw you, for a moment I thought you _were_ James. And from then on, nothing in your behaviour suggested you were any less self-absorbed, any less arrogantly assured of your own rightness and superiority-'   
  
'That's not true!' Harry replied, and felt a glimmer of heat. But only a glimmer. The charm absorbed his anger as it had taken his sorrow on the beach.  
  
Snape turned back, but his eyes were downcast. 'I know.  
  
'We all believed you would be safe. The Dark Lord had failed to kill you, when he had murdered so many others. What could possibly harm you after that? And what family would be anything but honoured to foster the Boy Who Lived?  
  
'When you arrived, you were so self-contained. Just like James. Nothing I said to you seemed to make the slightest dent in that supreme self-assurance. No doubt you had been spoiled by doting foster parents; or so I thought.  
  
'Then I saw your memories and saw what kind of life you had really lived. I had not realised until then that self-containment might be a defence against cruelty and neglect. I thought you ignored and flouted rules because, like your father, you saw no reason why they should apply to someone as uniquely wonderful as you. Instead I found you had been isolated and unloved, and you had instinctively defined the world around yourself because you had never been allowed another reference point.  
  
'How could anyone with your experiences possibly hope to ward off mental attack? Your mind was already worn out with defending itself.'  
  
Snape stopped abruptly, rubbing his hand across his brow before going on.  
  
'So I created a charm to shield your mind from intrusion and help you find the peace you need. The connection between us is an interdependent one in which I share with you my peace and take away your pain.'  
  
'I don't want you to take away my pain,' Harry said in a small voice. 'I don't want to forget Sirius or feel as if his death doesn't matter. The pain is unbearable, but it's mine. It's all I've got.'  
  
'I know,' Snape replied quietly. 'The charm wasn't supposed to cut you off from your feelings, it was supposed to create a space in which you could confront and conquer them. As you were doing on the moor when the Dementors came.   
  
'The balance between two minds is easily maintained while the wizard who cast the spell is mentally intact. But now the charm has become dangerously skewed and unstable; I cannot balance the effects and it is consuming me. My mind is incomplete, and I have no way to expiate the pain. Moody has ruined it all, and no matter how well my body may be recovering, if my mind continues to deteriorate, I will die.' 

  


* * *

Yay people! Thank you all LOTS & LOTS & LOTS for the reviews! My ego is feeling most well fed :> 

Hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was a bit of a pain to write, and I'm not sure I've quite included everything I wanted to - not sure it works completely. Reviews are always very welcome and greedily accepted, but I would really appreciate anyone's opinion on what they think is happening and what they think might happen next. I love writing mysteries, but sometimes what I think is a massive clue goes right over the readers' heads, and where I've thought I've been terribly clever and subtle, they've seen right through it. 

Frogfoot24: It was actually a whole day later before I realised this is what you meant regarding the spy! I am so dim sometimes! But actually you're very close... ;> And thank you as ever for your detailed critique, very very valuable to an aspiring writer.

LinZE: Sorry! MM will make a reappearance in about three chapters' time... I've got a third story strand involving her, but it doesn't come in til a couple other things happen first.

purplemonkey: Yep, it is shorter than most of the others... it was just where the story seemed to break naturally.

Barbara Kennedy: Indeedy! But of course a wizard could also conjure a whip to hit him and just cower underneath it. Moody's working on this assumption, but just wanted to check a sudden thought.

And very best wishes to: ShrugDuckie, Matteic, Knitekatz, Angel 1291, fanfiction fanatic, Alynna Lis Eachann, ataraxis, Kateri1, Lilith11 and anyone else passing through :) 


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 15  
**  
  
Tonks toyed idly with the various scrolls lying on the table as Lupin cleared away the lunch things. Dumbledore had left a large book-shaped parcel for Harry, and two scrolls. He had also left a scroll for Lupin, but that remained unopened, and Tonks found herself intrigued by what it might contain. She had a suspicion that Lupin did not want to open it, and this seemed confirmed when he began running water into the sink to wash up manually instead of conjuring the pots to wash themselves.  
  
Moody was leaning back in his chair, gazing at the ceiling with a fixed stare. Tonks watched him, marvelling that he could be so obsessed. 'So,' she said casually, 'has he leapt out of bed and made a break for freedom yet?'  
  
Moody gave her a sharp look, then softened slightly at the twinkle in her eye. 'Only a matter of time,' he said gruffly. 'Both wounds are clean and healing nicely. I'll give him a week to sleep off the shock. If he hasn't woken up by then, I'll give him some help.'  
  
He took a deep swallow from his hipflask, then sat in silence, gazing at it with a bleak, distant expression. Tonks watched him with a mixture of sympathy and annoyance. She realised that what had happened to Alice and Frank had been a particular blow to him; he had worked closely with both of them, and she knew he had retired shortly after the Lestranges' conviction. But to pursue Snape with such single-mindedness when he had given them no reason to doubt Dumbledore's trust in him seemed bizarre to her.  
  
'Why are you so convinced he's guilty?' she asked. 'I've read your report. The whole thing was ugly, but-'  
  
Anger flickered in Moody's face. 'When I got to Frank's house, the only person in it still standing was Snape. I didn't see Crouch. I didn't see the Lestranges. But they were tried and he wasn't. Why not? If he's so bloody innocent, why didn't he stand trial and prove it?'  
  
'It would have a bit suicidal, wouldn't it? There were Death Eaters we never caught – look at Lucius Malfoy. The minute Professor Snape admitted what he'd been doing, he'd have been a marked man-'  
  
'I was there at Karkaroff's trial when he accused Snape. Dumbledore stood up in front of two hundred people and said Snape was his spy. If that didn't blow his cover I don't see how a trial would have. What's the difference? Do you know? Because I'd certainly like to know why Dumbledore trusted that little sod when he didn't trust me enough to so much as mention in passing what was going on!'  
  
'Is that all this is about?' Moody looked up sharply. Lupin had wandered silently back, drying his hands, and now stood next to Tonks. 'You're jealous because you think Dumbledore trusted Severus more than you?' There was a cold look in Lupin's normally mild expression, a note of contempt in his voice.   
  
Moody glared back, temper rising; but for some reason, Lupin's insistent bias in favour of Snape was more fascinating than infuriating. His normal eye narrowed as it focused on him. Lupin knew something more than he was saying, had to. He was too intelligent, too sensitive, for blind faith; and Snape was a difficult man to like.  
  
'No,' Moody replied. 'Although I'm a big enough man to admit it galls me. No, Remus, the question is a legitimate one. I found Snape standing over the bodies of Frank and Alice Longbottom, pointing a wand at their baby. I had to let him go. Then months later when we're about to try Crouch and the Lestranges for it, I'm told we're not going to try Snape because he's the one who provided the evidence against them and that he's been on our side all along. You tell me why I shouldn't believe he didn't just sell them out to save his own skin?'  
  
Moody's eyes bored into Lupin. _What do you know that exonerates Snape?_ He could see a debate going on behind the man's eyes; there was something Lupin wanted to tell him, wanted to prove him wrong; but something was holding him back.  
  
'How do you explain everything he's done since You Know Who returned?' Lupin said finally.  
  
'Still trying to save himself, playing both sides. When all's said and done, Remus, what's he told us in the last year that we couldn't have managed without?'  
  
Lupin said nothing.  
  
'And then when the Ministry decided they were going to pull him in, he runs away. How do you explain that? Don't tell me that anyone capable of fooling You Know Who couldn't fool that idiot Minister. No. He ran because he's guilty and he knew wasn't going to get away with it this time!'  
  
Lupin stared at the floor, chewing his lip; but Moody had noticed the conflict in his eyes intensify.  
  
Moody pulled his box towards him and took out the bloodstained teddy bear. 'You see this?' he said, holding it up. Tonks took it, her expression neutral. 'I found that behind an armchair near where Alice was lying. Neville must have been hiding there, watching and listening while the Death Eaters used the Cruciatus curse on his parents.'  
  
Lupin turned away to put the towel back on the kitchen range, his eyes suddenly bright.  
  
Tonks' eyes narrowed as she gazed at the teddy, turning it in her hands, examining the stains. 'Whose blood is this?'  
  
Moody shook his head, his gaze momentarily flickering back to his box. 'Don't know. Belongs to more than one person, we established that much. When I got there, the whole carpet was soaking in it.'  
  
He reached into his box again, and this time pulled out a red and gold pendant. It was beautiful, an intricate pattern of curled gold forming a lacy net around a red jewel. 'Alice was holding that when we found her,' he growled, his normal eye glittering. 'She must have pulled it off him when he attacked her.'  
  
'Then why isn't it broken?' Lupin said softly, coming back and taking the pendant from Moody. 'If they were struggling, and she grabbed it and pulled, why didn't the chain snap?'  
  
Moody smiled horribly. 'You try breaking it.'  
  
Lupin examined the pendant. The bright chain felt like silk in his hands, soft and pliant, but when he looked more closely he saw that it was composed of hundreds of tiny golden threads, all woven into a narrow, supple cord. He tested it in his fingers; then pulled at it hard. It had the tensile strength of nylon rope.  
  
'That's never gold!' he said, as if it mattered. Moody gave a guttural chuckle.   
  
'Who cares what it's made of?' he said. 'The important thing is the red bit in the middle. Take a closer look at that if you will.'  
  
Lupin did so, holding it up to the light at various angles. His expression went blank for a moment as he realised that what looked like a red jewel was actually a tiny glass vial containing a red liquid. 'Blood...?'  
  
Moody nodded with a grim smile. 'Snape's blood. That's how I found him. What you're holding is a tiny lachrymatory containing approximately three drops of Snape's blood. All I needed was a pinprick. A very simple little charm, but most effective with the right ingredients.'  
  
'That's ridiculous!' said Tonks. 'Why on earth would he be carrying three drops of his own blood around with him in a necklace?'  
  
Moody sniffed. 'Oh, our Snape hasn't always been the greasy little sod we all know and love these days. When he worked for Malfoy he was a right little peacock. All flowing hair and silken robes, rings on every manicured finger. Anyone that vain would happily wear something like that. He'll be regretting it soon enough though.'  
  
Lupin frowned, and took another look at the pendant. There was, of course, another explanation, and it was no more unlikely than the idea of greasy, unkempt Snivellus suddenly taking a foppish interest in himself after leaving Hogwarts. But such speculation was fairly irrelevant at the moment. It was clear to Lupin that Moody was beyond reason where Snape was concerned; he wanted his blood in the judicious sight of the Wizengamot and that was all there was to it.  
  
He tossed the pendant back to Moody. 'It's no good,' he said levelly. 'It'll take more than a bloodstained teddy bear and a gold necklace to convince me Snape was anything more than in the wrong place at the wrong time. Dammit, Moody, if it wasn't for him, the Longbottoms would have died more than a year before that attack happened. You've got nothing but circumstantial evidence against him!'  
  
'Yeah?' Moody retorted. 'What is it to you anyway? He doesn't waste anything more on you or the rest of us than he has to, so why do you care?'  
  
Lupin scowled. 'I care because I believe in justice! You're obsessed because of what happened to Frank and Alice, and you want someone to blame! And-' he grabbed the teddy bear and shook it at Moody – 'it'll take more than this kind of rubbish to-'  
  
He gave a sudden cry and dropped the bear, collapsing over the table in pain. Tonks jumped up in shock, and with Moody's help, managed to steer Lupin into her chair. Lupin seemed almost on the point of fainting; his face was white and his breath came in short gasps as he clutched at his hand. Then Tonks managed to prise his fingers open, and they all stared in amazement at the skin which bleached and blistered as they watched.  
  


* * *

  
  
Harry opened his eyes. The room was full of light from the waning noonday sun as it moved post meridian, and he squinted as he sat up, trying to remember where he had dropped his glasses.   
  
'Harry Potter sir!' a voice squeaked at him from the side of the bed while a small arm waved his glasses at him.  
  
'Dobby' Harry dazedly realised he was back in Grimmauld Place, while Snape's last words echoed in his head. He wondered why he had chosen that moment to wake up; that last sentence didn't make sense, he wanted to ask him what he meant and what could be done. But Dobby was insistent, bouncing up and down and tugging at his pyjama jacket.  
  
'The one-eyed wizard has gone!' he said urgently. 'Harry Potter sir, please, you must help Dobby save Severus Snape!'  
  
Harry fumbled his way into his jeans and t-shirt with clumsy fingers. He blinked at the day in confusion; he must have slept for hours, and yet he felt as exhausted as when he had gone to bed.  
  
The corridor was empty; Harry strained for the slightest sound but could hear nothing. He and Dobby crept into Snape's bedroom, Harry closing the door behind them as quietly as he could.  
  
The room was light enough to see everything clearly, but the curtains were drawn, taking the sharpness from the afternoon sun. Snape in the real world looked no different than he had earlier, although someone had pulled his blankets higher. Harry gazed at him, trying to discern breathing. He felt no desire at all to touch the worn-out-looking face with its curiously long eyelashes and high cheekbones. He reflected on how odd that was; in the dream world, hugging Snape had been almost like hugging himself, as if they were two versions of the same person. Out here, though, the closer he came, the more repelled he felt, in no doubt of Snape's otherness.  
  
'And what do you think you are doing in here? came a cold voice from the opposite wall.  
  
Harry looked up the portrait of Phineas Nigellus. He straightened up with a glare and went to stand in front of it, while behind him Dobby hopped up on the bed next to Snape.  
  
'I don't think that's any of your business,' he replied insolently. Phineas fixed him with a glacial stare, and Harry returned it without flinching.  
  
'How dare you take that tone with me!' said Phineas contemptuously. 'Who do you think you are?'  
  
Harry gave a scornful sniff and turned his back on the painting. Dobby was running his little hands over Snape's face and head, as if looking for something. Harry was about to ask him what he was doing when Phineas' icy tones summoned him again.  
  
'Do you not think you have done enough damage? Creeping back here as if you have any right to stand in my house, when your ill-considered actions have led to the death of my great-great grandson?'  
  
Harry spun round, fury rising like a tidal wave. Phineas sneered.  
  
'Oh yes, young man, I know exactly what happened. The great Harry Potter decided he would challenge the Dark Lord, and went rushing off to battle without a thought in his brainless little head except for his own glorification. You endangered the silly children who went with you, you endangered the people who were forced to run after you and save you when you realised you had bitten off more than you could chew, and now here you are again, poking your immature nose into matters you do not understand with your insufferable teenage arrogance-'  
  
'SHUT UP!' Harry screamed. 'YOU'RE WRONG! I went there to save Sirius, I had a vision he was there being tortured by Voldemort! I didn't know it wasn't true until I got there!'  
  
'What puerile vanity allowed you to imagine that your childish nightmares were genuine visions? How hard did you try to find out where Sirius was? What attempt did you make to contact him?'  
  
'I couldn't contact him, I had that bloody Umbridge woman trying to use the Cruciatus curse on me! Dumbledore had gone, McGonagall was in hospital, there wasn't anyone else to go to– '  
  
Phineas sneered again, his narrow gaze becoming more intense. 'Was there not?'  
  
Harry's voice trailed off. The red hot anger in his heart turned white, and he turned towards Snape with a look of pure venom.   
  
'He wouldn't help me,' he said, the words twisting his face with passion as they came out. 'He never does anything to help me. He let me go without telling me Sirius was safe. He hates Sirius, he hates me, he probably hoped we'd both die'  
  
'No excuse too ridiculous if it absolves us of our guilt, is that it boy?'  
  
Harry stopped. His anger had suddenly evaporated and he felt sick and shaky. Phineas believed it was his fault Sirius had died. Harry wanted to believe it was Snape's fault; but deep down he suddenly realised he did not believe this at all; in his heart he agreed with Phineas. It was like a knife inside him, tearing at him with a guilt he had pushed away, pushed onto his hatred of Snape so easily because of the way the man had treated him all these years; and yet  
  
Snape had saved his life when Quirrel first tried to kill him. Even Dumbledore had not realised who had tried to attack him in that Quidditch match, but Snape had known immediately and tried to stop it.   
  
The memories seeped up from forgotten places in Harry's head; he felt as if he was floating over visions from his past, looking down as if into someone else's Pensieve  
  
Everyone had believed Sirius had escaped Azkaban to kill him. Snape believed Sirius had tried to kill him, when they were at school together, with the help of his werewolf friend Lupin. But when he had seen on the Marauders' Map that Harry, Ron and Hermione were trapped with a ruthless killer and a monster, Snape had rushed to save them without a second thought.  
  
Harry began to shake. Snape had risked a Dementor's kiss to save him on the moor  
  
'No,' he whispered. The dim realisation that it was Snape's wretched spell pushing forward these pieces of information for his consideration was of no comfort. A conclusion forced itself upon him: he wanted it to be Snape's fault, because then it wouldn't be his.  
  
His knees buckled and he sank to the floor in front of Phineas' portrait. 'It's not my fault,' he whispered, 'it's his fault, it's his fault, it's his fault'  
  
The room was going dark; the floor seemed to be sliding sideways. Harry, suddenly freezing cold, leaned his head against a carpet which seemed now to be covering the wall, and watched the colour bleach out of the world, turning Phineas' portrait into shades of grey. He thought he heard shouts in the distance, thought he saw Moody stumping towards him across the wall below him. Then everything went black, black, black, and he was falling

* * *

  
Hi everyone :) 

Big hugs all round! Thank you very much for the kind words - and the feedback. If everyone is getting the same ideas and asking the same questions as you, Barbara, Frogfoot and Knitekatz, then that's exactly what I want. Great stuff! 

Really sorry I couldn't update last week - it's such a fantastic challenge, trying to get the next installment ready, and I've privately set Fridays as my deadline for each Chapter because it's such good discipline to keep on track. Unfortunately I had to work an extra evening last week, so I couldn't make it. And with Easter coming up, this will probably be the last update until around April 23rd (although Ch16 is going well, so I might get it out for next week). Sorry Lillith - and thank you immeasurably for your generous praise. 

Rather pushed for time now, so again a big thank you to everyone who reviewed. And if you liked this story (reviewers & readers), please consider adding me to your Favourites - the Harry Potter fanfic listing moves so fast that new entries are buried very quickly. So I get a better chance of new people finding it if they look among your Faves and see mine there. 

Thanks and best wishes to you all - Happy Easter! 

S. 


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 16  
**  
  
Harry screamed. He opened his mouth, sucked in a deep breath and let it all out in one long howl of anger and pain. He wanted it to be Snape's fault, because then it wouldn't be his fault. He wanted it to be someone's fault, because then he could say, if this hadn't been done, if that hadn't happened, Sirius would not have died, he would have lived, _if only  
_  
And then, in a tiny, barely acknowledged part of his mind, Sirius would live. This didn't happen, that didn't happen, and there was Sirius, a tiny figure waving at him in the distance. _Make this not have happened, and then I can have you back_  
  
Someone grabbed him as he fell, and Harry lashed out with hands and feet, kicking and clawing out of inchoate rage. He did not want to be touched and comforted; he wanted to let the ugly fury out and pass on his pain to someone else. He pounded his fists into the chest of the man in front of him, and the man obligingly gave way to the onslaught. But his hands were on Harry's shoulders, and as he fell back into the rugs and furs, he drew Harry into his embrace and held him tight.  
  
The grief and anger were washed away in a sublime rush of comfort. For one blinding moment, Harry felt his mother's arms around him, smelled her scent as he buried his face in her hair but the hair wasn't red, it was black  
  
He wrenched himself back and fell over, landing in a sea of fur. Snape gazed down at him impassively from the edge of the settee, all flowing hair and flowing robes, his dark eyes reflecting nothing but the firelight.  
  
'Why?' Harry whispered accusingly. 'Why do I feel this bad? It doesn't make any difference. Up on the moor, before with Tonks nothing changes. You said the charm was meant to take away all my bad feelings, but it doesn't!'  
  
Snape gave a thin smile. 'No,' he said, 'it creates a space for them. The only person who can make them go is the person actually experiencing them. And as I explained before, the charm has become warped, so it isn't working the way it should.'  
  
Harry sat up and rested his head in his hands. 'If you hadn't done the charm, what would I be feeling?'  
  
Snape shrugged. 'I've no idea. Grief is a complex of emotions, unique, not only to an individual, but to an individual loss. It depends on how important he was to you, and why. It can depend on the circumstance of his death.'  
  
'I blamed you,' Harry mumbled. 'You didn't let me know you'd understood me in Umbridge's office.'  
  
'What difference would it have made if I had?'  
  
The question hung in the air for a moment. Harry looked up with a frown. Snape raised an eyebrow ironically.  
  
'You were being forced at wand point into the Forbidden Forest. Your friends were being held by the Inquisitorial Squad. You had an overwhelming conviction that your precious godfather was being tortured, and every minute you spent at Hogwarts was another minute wasted. What difference would it have made to your choices from that point on if I had somehow contrived to let you know I had understood you?'  
  
Harry bowed his head, despair hovering just out of reach. 'It's all my fault, isn't it?' he whispered. 'Sirius is dead because of me. If I had worked harder at Occlumency I wouldn't have had the vision. If I had come to you instead of breaking in to Umbridge's office, I'd have known Sirius was safe.'  
  
'The Dark Lord is a very powerful wizard; even an accomplished Occlumens after years of study would have difficulty shutting him out. Even without your psychological disabilities, you had not a hope of mastering the art sufficiently in the time available. And as for coming to me' Snape broke off, looking away bitterly before continuing, 'why on earth would you think of coming to me if you were in trouble?'  
  
Harry said nothing. Why indeed? He sighed deeply, and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, it was to find himself lying on Moody's bed, looking up at Albus Dumbledore.  
  


* * *

  
  
Lupin watched as Dumbledore and Tonks helped Harry pull himself into a sitting position, while Moody painted an orange paste over his burned hand.   
  
Lupin was appalled at the way Harry looked. They had apparated to Snape's room just in time to see Harry collapse; Dumbledore had arrived minutes later, while they were lifting him onto Moody's bed. His hand burned savagely, but the sight of Harry, deathly pale and unconscious, had been enough of a shock to drive it from his mind.  
  
Now the pain was genuinely receding. Lupin watched Harry sit up, looking terribly thin and sick. Tonks sat on the bed next to him, her face a picture of worried sympathy as she let him lean on her. 'He's probably just hungry,' Moody commented. His magical eye had rolled right back in the socket to look at Harry and Dumbledore, while his normal eye focused on the bandage he was winding around Lupin's hand. 'By my reckoning, the boy hasn't eaten anything since yesterday. Why don't you two take him downstairs for some breakfast?'  
  
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully as Harry gazed around with a dazed expression. 'That sounds like a very good idea, Alastor,' he said, and held out his hand. 'Come Harry, let's see what we can find in the kitchen.' He and Tonks led the unresisting boy out of the room, and Lupin found himself alone with Moody and the unconscious Snape.  
  
Moody finished the bandage in the silence that followed, then got up to tidy away the bottles and potions. Lupin rose and wandered over to Snape's bed, absently nursing his hand. Snape lay unmoving beneath his blankets, his frail form padded with pillows. Lupin shook his head wonderingly. 'I don't understand you,' he murmured, staring at the fresh bandages and the clean sheets. 'All this effort to keep alive someone you're going to hand over to certain death at the first opportunity. All this rubbish about standing trial! It'll be nothing but a formality, and you know it.'  
  
He turned angrily. Moody, who was watching him from the window with a meditative gaze, said nothing for a few moments. Then: 'Blood which burns a werewolf. Interesting.'  
  
Lupin met his gaze, his eyes narrowing sharply. 'How do you know it's the blood? Maybe there was something else on it too; you've had it lying around at your place for fourteen years. What else could it have come in contact with?'  
  
Moody smiled. 'Oh I'm very careful with my evidence, even years after people might think it irrelevant. There's nothing on that bear but blood stains. Do you know whose blood it is?'  
  
Lupin stared at him with a feral look in his eye. 'You've got an enquiring mind, Mad-Eye,' he said. 'Did you ever wonder why people have been searching for centuries for a cure for lycanthropy and getting nowhere, then suddenly, in the last few years, a breakthrough was made?  
  
'Severus worked on the Wolfsbane potion. He's been working on a cure for lycanthropy since his final year at Hogwarts, ever since an irresponsible teenager almost got him killed by a werewolf. He gave a lot of his research to the team at St. Mungo's, and the result of it is the potion which keeps me from going insane every month.'  
  
Moody's face was unreadable.  
  
Lupin began to pace, his burnt hand cradled against his chest. 'But you're wrong if you think that's the only reason I want him to live,' he said. 'I meant it when I said I cared about justice. I don't believe Severus is guilty of what happened to Frank and Alice; I didn't even know he had been a Death Eater until last year.'  
  
'Research is moving on,' Moody said. 'The latest tests are producing a Potion which allows the sufferer to remain conscious during the transformation and retain memories. All this success is mainly down to Snape, isn't it? Not the St. Mungo's team, as you might expect. But a schoolteacher. Wonder how he managed that without werewolf blood to work on?'  
  
Lupin scowled. 'Severus came to see me just after I lost my job at Hogwarts. He offered me a lot of money for regular samples of my blood for his research. I had no choice – and even if I hadn't needed the money, I'd have been happy to give him my blood, as much as it took. He's actually succeeding!'   
  
Moody noted the sudden flash of desperate hope in Lupin's eyes and filed it in the back of his mind. 'As a matter of fact, I had wondered about that breakthrough. I've read some of the papers on it; they've made some quite extraordinary, prodigious advances. All down to someone who's name appears in very small print, which made me think that he doesn't want to be recognised for his work. Odd, wouldn't you say?'  
  
Lupin stared at Moody, trying to work out where the conversation was going.  
  
'The blood on the teddy bear,' said Moody steadily. 'Most of it belongs to Snape, doesn't it?'  
  


* * *

  
  
'How are you feeling now, Harry? Well enough to talk?' Dumbledore filled Harry's flagon with more orange juice as Tonks banished the parcel, scrolls and Moody's box to the other end of the kitchen table with a wave of her wand.  
  
Harry nodded, taking another mouthful gratefully. He felt exhausted, and his throat was dry and sore; presumably he had screamed aloud, although everything else had taken place in Snape's dream world. He gazed into the flagon's depths for a moment. This was the first time he had seen the Headmaster since the day Sirius died. He looked up into the bright blue eyes behind their half-moon spectacles, as if seeing them for the first time. _Why not blame him for Sirius' death?_ came a voice from deep inside his mind. _He admitted it was his fault, if he had been more honest with you about your destiny, a lot of things could have been different. Why aren't you angry with him?  
_  
Harry dropped his gaze and scowled at the surface of the table. 'Professor Snape put a charm on me to keep Voldemort out of my head,' he muttered. 'But it's gone wrong. He says its killing him. I think it's killing me, too.'  
  
Dumbledore nodded slowly. 'Tell me what happened, Harry,' he said gently. 'Everything you can think of.'  
  
Harry took a few moments to gather his thoughts; it was becoming hard to concentrate. Finally he began to talk, and with the occasional gentle prompt from Tonks, he described the phantom library and Snape's unusual appearance in some detail, and everything Snape had told him about the charm. Without really thinking about it, Harry omitted everything they had discussed regarding Sirius and Snape's reasons for casting the spell.  
  
Dumbledore listened in silence, and when Harry finished, there was a faraway look in his eyes. Tonks looked at him, a slight frown on her face. Harry looked from one to the other; then Dumbledore spoke. 'I know the place you have described, Harry,' he said. 'I've been there. But there were no gaps in the book shelves then. How very interesting.'  
  
'Snape said it wasn't real, that he was dreaming it and I was sharing it because of the charm,' Harry mumbled. He was starting to feel tired again.  
  
'Yes,' said Dumbledore. 'Severus almost died on the moor, and his damaged mind has sought refuge in the memory of a place in which he once felt safe and happy. I am fairly certain the bookshelves are representations of his memories.'  
  
'And the gaps?' Tonks began.  
  
' are missing memories,' Dumbledore finished. 'Severus went to fight Dementors, and believed he would stand a better chance if he removed unpleasant memories beforehand. Now he is in a coma here while his thoughts are in a Pensieve elsewhere.'  
  
'He said the charm had gone wrong because his mind was incomplete,' said Harry. 'Is that why?'  
  
'How many gaps were there?'  
  
'Lots.'  
  
Dumbledore closed his eyes.  
  
'This charm,' Tonks said with a note of urgency in her voice, 'We know it's draining energy from Professor Snape; but it looks like it's draining Harry as well'  
  
Dumbledore nodded. 'We must find Severus' Pensieve. If we can restore the missing parts of his mind before he sinks too far, he may be able to regain consciousness and correct the charm. If not, his mind will collapse, and both he and Harry will die.'  
  
'Can't you lift the spell?' asked Tonks. It seemed to Harry that she and Dumbledore had momentarily forgotten he was still there; but he was too tired to care. 'Powerful wizards can lift spells created by others if the spell or the person who cast it is weaker. If we could find his notes on the charm itself and find out exactly how it works, you could undo it, couldn't you?'  
  
Dumbledore gave a wry smile. 'Unfortunately no, Tonks. It would take a more powerful wizard than I to undo this particular piece of magic if it was created by Severus.'

  


* * *

  
Hooooooooooooooooooooooooooge thanks to everyone who reviewed! And to all those who've added me to their favourites. :) More reviews for Chapter Fifteen than any of the others, THANK YOU! Excellent feedback too - praise for writing is eagerly and greedily accepted, but constructive criticism is hugely valued - thank you. 

Wanted to put this online Friday night, but I dunno what happened to Fanfiction.net - definite technical hitch! 

BekaJWP: Hug them both! Poor things  
Lillith11: *hugs* I know I've been in your faves, since your first review. My rampant ego rushes to check! And a few more people have added me to theirs now, and I've seen several more reviews in the last week than usual. Usually I just get a few in the three days after posting, then that's it.  
frogfoot24: Bad luck on the time limitations - I remember those sorts of restrictions, how very frustrating!  
Barbara Kennedy: Oh yes, you're definitely asking the right questions!  
excessivelyperky: I do indeed have plans for Moody  
, : Seems odd, talking to a comma - but I just wanted to say, yes your perception of the situation is what I hoped to portray.  
Merlyn: *grin* I do love your review. Wonder if other people off the list would be so pleasantly surprised?  
Spiral-Digger: *grin* I love that image too. Beautiful Snape!  
Knitekatz: :D Some of your questions answered - some more yet to be, and some new questions now I hope!  
Silverthreads: Thank you - if so then I've acheived what I hoped to - it's quite difficult to avoid overdoing emotion.  
crockywock: Yay! Don't apologise for sending reviews! Egoes need feeding ;D Really glad you liked it :). Re: your comments about Snape/Severus - I agree completely! I'm hoping to use the names as a way of depicting 1st & 3rd person viewpoints later on, but as you observe, it's not easily done. Why Snape starts calling Harry "Harry" will become clear further on ;)  
And very best wishes to Kateri1, chickens, forlornhope, almostlost4wordz, ,00, and Ezmerelda :D


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter Seventeen  
**  
  
'How do you know?' Lupin whispered. He sank on to the edge of Snape's bed, his head in his hands, his back to Moody.   
  
'I tested it. There was blood all over Neville's clothes where Snape had been holding him. I thought it was Neville's, but he wasn't physically injured, so it had to be Snape's. I compared it with what was in the necklace and on the bear.'  
  
'You told us you didn't know whose it was,' Lupin prevaricated in a mumble.  
  
'Didn't want to upset Tonks any further. And it wasn't a complete lie. There is someone else's blood on it, but we never identified all the people who died in that house. We found the remains of three, but it was all such a mess there could well have been more. We did the best we could, but collecting it all up and incinerating it was about as much as we could do.'  
  
The silence lengthened; but Moody settled himself on the edge of his own bed with an amiable sense that he was about to get some questions answered. It was only a matter of time. Moody had waited fourteen years; he was content to wait on Lupin's agonised conscience.  
  
'I didn't believe there was no cure for lycanthropy,' Lupin whispered eventually. 'I hunted the library for everything I could find, desperate for anything. The school were so good to me, but every full moon was hell, and I couldn't stand the thought that my whole life was going to be like this. Everyone thought I was just a swot. I let them; better that than the truth.  
  
'One day I found a book lying on a table near the Restricted Section. One of the NEWTs students must have left it there, very careless. Madame Pince would have had a fit if she'd known. But I don't think she ever found out, because I took it.  
  
'It was a book about vampires. Mainly. Other creatures too, including werewolves. Apparently, I'm not a werewolf in the strictest sense, only half of one. But anyway...'  
  
Lupin took a ragged breath and half turned so he was sideways to Moody, facing Snape. 'I found out by accident that Severus' blood will hurt me; he cut himself by accident in a Potions lesson and it spilled on me. He never noticed the effect, and I volunteered to take him to the hospital wing so I could see Madam Pomfrey myself without letting anyone know what had happened. I never told her how I'd burned my hand.'  
  
Lupin's voice trailed off. Moody said nothing.  
  
He had known, without really understanding until now, how desperate someone with lycanthropy might be. Now he understood why Lupin was standing so resolutely between him and Snape. Lupin might well care for justice and the rest of it - but who would blame him for wanting Snape to live if Snape was his best chance of recovery? And did Lupin really suppose his reasons for protecting Snape to be any more noble than that?  
  
And yet... he must be desperate indeed to imagine any such thing were possible. Lycanthropy changed the victim's physical being at a molecular level - once the two gene patterns were fused, there was no way of separating them. The Wolfsbane potion was miraculous in its way, but it did not touch the underlying nature of the condition. Did Lupin know that? Deep inside, Moody felt a sudden wrench of pity. He waited in silence for Lupin to continue.  
  
Lupin gazed into Snape's battered face with a tormented expression. Moody could read the presence of a long story in those troubled eyes, and the wretched battle over how much to disclose. He decided on another measured push.  
  
'I'm not completely implacable, Remus,' he said quietly. 'Give me a reason to believe he's innocent. Convince me - and I'll heal him and let him go.'  
  
There was another long, brooding silence.  
  
'I remember the first time I ever met Severus,' Lupin said quietly. 'I was waiting for the Hogwarts Express with my parents. We were an hour early.' He gave a small smile at the memory, seizing a momentary refuge in it. His parents had worried and fussed all summer about his place at Hogwarts, relieved that he would not be denied an education, eager for him to have this precious chance at a semblance of normal life. At the time, all he had understood was that the Headmaster had assured them that his disability could be accommodated. Lupin remembered his father's "man-to-man" chat a week before term started, impressing upon him the importance of letting no one discover the truth behind his frequent bouts of "illness". At the age of eleven, the prospect of expulsion from school might seem the worst possible disaster in a boy's life, and Lupin's father had certainly made it sound that way, stressing how disappointed he would be if Lupin lost his place at school due to carelessness. But the worst possible thing that could have happened to Lupin had already happened, and some tone buried in his father's voice hinted at unspeakable consequences should anyone discover that his son was infected with lycanthropy. Lupin had been too afraid to ask what those consequences might be. It would be at least four years before he found out.  
  
'I was scared about going, and trying not to show it because my parents were so pleased I'd been accepted. I didn't want to let them down. We'd been there about twenty minutes, all alone because we were so early, and I was feeling rather bored, nervous and fed up. And then all of a sudden there was this other boy saying hello to me. One minute we were there by ourselves, apart from one or two station staff, then the next there was this boy and his father standing there as if they'd been there all the time.  
  
'He looked so excited about going to school, and I had the impression that it was somehow as significant for him as it was for me. Except he couldn't wait to get there.  
  
'Severus' enthusiasm buoyed me up a bit. I didn't see his father leave because my parents were having a last minute fret over whether I'd got everything, but by the time we got on the train, I didn't feel scared or unhappy about going anymore. My parents were delighted I'd managed to make a friend so soon.'  
  
Lupin went silent, staring into space as he gazed into the past. Moody couldn't help a slight frown of impatience, but said nothing. Sometimes the answers one most wanted lay in the stories which sounded least relevant.  
  
'By what seemed incredible good luck, Severus and I ended up, not only in the same house, but in the same dormitory. And there we met the three boys who were to become my best friends. James Potter, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew.'  
  
Another pause. Moody waited.  
  
'James and Sirius really hit it off the moment they met, kindred spirits. Intelligent, gifted; nothing ever seemed difficult for either of them. They went round together, exuding self-confidence and cool, and I was happy to trail along in their shadow, because while people were looking at them, they weren't looking at me.  
  
'Severus, on the other hand, didn't like being outshone by anyone. I don't think he'd had much contact with other children before he came to Hogwarts, and he wasn't used to sharing attention with other people. Almost from the first lesson, he was competing with everyone, desperate to be the first to answer any question. He seemed to have already read every book on the set list, as well as every other book that might be relevant, and couldn't wait to share his knowledge with everyone else, especially the people he shared a dormitory with. Whereas James and Sirius never bothered reading anything more than they had to, but mastered everything they attempted almost immediately. And that's where it all went wrong. Severus knew a massive amount, but he couldn't seem to put it into practice, and James and Sirius could. He was jealous of them for their easy success, and they disliked him for being a show-off and a know-all.  
  
'It all came to a head in Transfiguration, about a month into term. Severus had managed to earn himself a detention for refusing to try transfiguring beetles the week before, and James and Sirius were joking behind his back that it was just an excuse because he couldn't do it.'  
  
'Why couldn't he do it?' Moody interrupted, frowning. 'It doesn't make sense...'  
  
Lupin smiled wryly. 'He couldn't pronounce the words properly. I don't know where he actually comes from, but he's not English, or he's only half-English or something. For most of the first year, anything which involved actually saying magic words defeated him completely. If he hadn't been so phenomenally good at Potions and Herbology, I think he'd have failed the year altogether. He must have had elocution lessons or something during the summer holidays, because when we came back for the second year, his English was absolutely perfect.'  
  
'But most of the words we use to perform magic aren't English,' Moody pointed out.   
  
'No, most of them are Latin. But Severus had a strange accent, and he put stresses in odd places in words. He could be really difficult to understand sometimes, especially when he got excited about something, because then he talked faster.'  
  
'Fluent but with the wrong accent,' said Moody thoughtfully. 'As if he'd taught himself out of a book without ever hearing it spoken. But you were telling me what happened in this lesson?'  
  
'Yeah. Well, Severus was refusing to transfigure whatever small creature we were using that day, and Sirius laughed at him, mimicking his accent and making fun of him. Everyone laughed...'  
  
'Including you?'  
  
There was a pause and a sigh.   
  
'So what happened then?' Moody pressed.  
  
'Severus got angry. He'd managed to keep his temper under control before, but the antagonism between him and Sirius had been building for a while, and this was the first time it became obvious the rest of the class... weren't on his side, if you know what I mean.  
  
'Anyway... he lost his temper and screamed at Sirius that nobody had the right to do Transfiguration and that it was all childish rubbish. That Sirius might be good at conjuring but he had no idea what real magic was. Then he waved his hand in the air and shouted a stream of words in a language I've never heard. And then... then...'  
  
Lupin frowned, trying to find words to describe what had happened next.  
  
'The air pressure seemed to change. Suddenly it felt as if we were standing in a much bigger room, or a much emptier one. And it was because... technically we were. Everything in the room, every person, was suddenly just an image on the wall or the floor. There were only three people apart from Severus who weren't affected - me, Professor McGonagall, and James. I don't know why.'  
  
'What do you mean? Images? In what way?'  
  
'As if every piece of furniture and every person in the room had just been painted on to its surfaces. So that if you stood at a certain angle, it was all three dimensional and realistic, but if you moved slightly, you realised it was all just pictures.'   
  
There was silence while Moody tried to digest the information Lupin was giving him. 'That's not possible,' he said at last. 'It was some sort of illusion; no one has that kind of power; certainly no child.'  
  
The corner of Lupin's mouth lifted into a twisted smile. 'Oh no, it was no illusion. Can you imagine how someone could create an illusion like that on such a scale? I wouldn't know where to begin, and believe me, I searched the whole library for some clue as to what it was Severus had done. For about thirty minutes, everyone and everything in that room did not exist in the world as we know it.'  
  
Moody gazed at the man in the bed with new disbelief. 'So what happened then? Thirty minutes?'  
  
Lupin nodded. 'Professor McGonagall and James looked horrified; I didn't really know what had happened. Severus looked so triumphant; I don't think he realised the potential consequences of what he'd done. I remember I was going to walk over to where he was standing, and McGonagall practically screamed at me not to move. Then Dumbledore came in.  
  
'He didn't look angry or anything; he just looked around with a slight smile on his face and told McGonagall to take me and James to his office and wait for him there. He pointed out a route which took us past her desk and around the edge of the room, and she warned us not to deviate from it by so much as an inch. So we went out, and the door closed behind us, and I don't know exactly what happened then, except that everyone turned up in the Great Hall at lunchtime as if nothing had happened. Nobody seemed to remember anything about it; at least, Sirius and Peter certainly didn't.  
  
'We waited in silence for Dumbledore to come back to his office, and when he did, he said that everything was now alright and made us promise not to tell anyone what had happened. That Severus' father had taken him away for a few days, and that he would never to do anything like it again.   
  
'James looked so shaken by it, and because we'd been forbidden to discuss it with anyone, we could only talk to each other. He said he'd read about a wizard who could do magic like that, and that he had been one of the most evil wizards in history. But he couldn't remember the wizard's name. We hunted the library for clues, but of course anything like that was going to be in the Restricted Section, so we couldn't get at it.  
  
'That was a Friday; we didn't see Severus again until the following Tuesday morning. He was completely different when he came back. Very subdued, didn't want to talk to anyone, kept himself to himself. I don't think James ever broke his word to Dumbledore, but he and Sirius left Severus alone for several weeks after that.'  
  
Lupin subsided, gazing miserably at Snape. Moody sat in silence, considering. 'Interesting,' he said at last, 'but I don't see how this actually proves anything about Snape. It raises a lot more questions than it answers, to be frank.'  
  
Lupin gave an incredulous laugh. 'Don't you see? Severus' life was made hell by James and Sirius. And he not only knew far more curses and hexes than anyone else when he arrived at school, he had the power to carry them out. But he didn't. He wouldn't transfigure a beetle because he thought it was cruel! Don't you see?'  
  
Moody stared at Lupin with an expression of deep puzzlement. 'No,' he said blankly. 'I'm obviously dull-witted; explain it to me.'  
  
Lupin stood up, misery giving way to anger in his face. 'Severus Snape has more magical power than any wizard I have ever met, apart from Dumbledore and You Know Who. And he was treated cruelly by everyone at school. He could have had the worst revenge on any of us, any time he liked. But he didn't. Because he believes it was wrong!'  
  
Moody snorted. 'If he's such a saint, why did he join the Death Eaters?'  
  
Lupin scowled. 'They were the only friends he had. I didn't even know he was a Death Eater until last year! But he didn't stay with them, did he, after he found out what they were really like?'  
  
'And then why doesn't he take on You Know Who? Think of all the lives he could have saved!'  
  
Lupin's eyes blazed. 'Because he doesn't know what he is!'  
  
'And you do?'  
  
Lupin stared at him for a moment, breathing heavily. 'Yes.'

* * *

Yay! Thank you all hooooooooooooooooooooooooogely for the reviews! Yes Yes Yes you're all asking the right questions! Fantastic! How I dearly love you all! hugs hugs hugs hugs hugs hugs hugs hugs hugs hugs hugs hugs hugs hugs hugs 

On a more restrained note: it might be a while (a fortnight or three weeks rather than a week) before the next update - May's a busy month. Do hope you enjoy this chapter - bit longer than the previous ones. 

BekaJWP: Glad you liked the library with the missing books! Just wish I could have wrung a bit more out of the dreamscape, as I've said to Clio below...  
Clio: Thank you immensely! It's really good to know the mysteries coming out the way I wanted them - this is the effect I was hoping for. You will get to find out what happened in the Longbottoms' house - though I can't say when. Have to say, this whole fic has turned out a lot longer than I planned, and the dreamscape, which I was very fond of, hasn't worked out the way I wanted it to, although it's served its purpose well - I'll probably try the device out in another fic later on though.  
LinZE: You know, I just feel guilty every time I think about MM! She was never meant to be out of the story as long as this! So glad you do like the rest of the story though - and you may be pleased to know MM will be back in the next chapter. Her bit is already written - but I've reached a fiddly bit and I haven't got as much time as I'd like to give it, just now.  
leaserpent: I just glow when I get reviews like this! My greedy ego is willing you a large box of chocolates!  
crockywock: Sorry! It's quite difficult to be original - and I think the idea that Snape invented or contributed heavily to the invention of Wolfsbane, and Snape losing his arm with the Dark Mark, are two very popular themes on Fanfiction.net! Glad you liked the way it's used - I must have a look at your fics sometime :) 

And very best wishes to Merlyn, Kateri1, Lilith11, frogfoot26, excessivelyperky, chickens, Barbara Kennedy, Ezmerelda, dalamis, fanfiction fanatic, knitekatz and anyone else who might be reading :) 


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 18  
  
Kingsley Shacklebolt gazed out of his office window with a frown, idly drumming his fingers on the desk top. Minerva McGonagall had given him the answers to every question he had asked, and it was a lot to take in. He was grateful that it was the weekend, for the place was comparatively deserted. The empty quiet gave him a chance to think and review the information.  
  
He did not know what to make of the story he had just heard. It sounded too fantastic to be true, and if it had come from anyone else he would not have believed a word of it. But even if he did not know Professor McGonagall for the down to earth, logical witch that she was, the gravity of Dumbledore's attitude to the whole issue was the seal of veracity.  
  
'And Dumbledore swore you all to secrecy,' he mused. 'Why, exactly? I mean, I can see why it was probably more convenient all round for it to be kept quiet; but why so secret?'  
  
McGonagall raised an ironic eyebrow. 'Convenient would be an understatement,' she said. 'Several teachers were horrified that Dumbledore could even consider letting Severus remain at the school. I could understand their point of view, but to let that kind of power walk out of the school to be corrupted by someone else was inconceivable.'  
  
It was Shacklebolt's turn to look ironic. 'So he stayed and got corrupted by Malfoy instead?'  
  
McGonagall's lips tightened into a thin line for a moment. 'Hardly, since he very quickly saw the error of his ways and came back.'  
  
'And you're absolutely sure he did come back? That he isn't a double-agent for You Know Who?'  
  
McGonagall nodded, a slight glint in her eyes. 'Knowing dark magic and having a lot of power doesn't make someone a dark wizard. Severus could have used his spell to kill everyone in that classroom that day. But he did not. He was an angry little boy trying to prove himself, and the thought of hurting anyone never crossed his mind. And that was the argument I put to Albus when we discussed the issue of his expulsion. Talent of all levels requires nurturing. In many cases, it isn't an individual's power which confers greatness, but the manner in which they choose to use it. Severus proved himself to me that day when he had the chance to kill and passed it up, at an age when moral choices are rarely considered. And years later, when he could have easily become far worse than You Know Who, he chose instead to risk his life to fight him.'  
  
Shacklebolt pondered this for a moment. 'How come you, James and Remus weren't affected?'  
  
McGonagall considered the question. 'I am not sure,' she said, 'but think it may have been because James and I are animagi and Remus is a werewolf. In order to change the outward appearance of anything – or to cast it into shadow, as Severus did – you do need to understand its true nature. Severus did not know about the three of us, so his spell couldn't touch us.'  
  
Shacklebolt frowned. 'Surely James wasn't an animagus at the age of eleven? It takes years of study to pull that one off-'  
  
McGonagall gave a thin smile. 'Indeed it does. And I would find it highly unlikely that a sixteen year old would manage it either; yet he, Sirius and Peter Pettigrew all succeeded in their fifth year. I would strongly imagine that James was already dabbling in such magic then, and thus he was able to teach his friends later on. James was another young man who came to Hogwarts knowing rather more than he should. His father used to write books on the history of magic, so he knew rather a lot about some things. He was certainly very frightened by what happened; he wanted to leave. It took me quite some time to convince him that he was perfectly safe.'  
  
Shacklebolt gave a cynical sniff. 'Didn't stop him bullying Severus though, did it?'  
  
McGonagall sighed. 'Well it did for the rest of that year. And poor Severus was a much quieter person afterwards, practically invisible. By the end of their first year, James had realised that Severus really wasn't going to do any more dangerous magic, and Sirius and the rest of the class had no memory of the whole thing. So by the time they all got into the second year, James felt much safer.'  
  
'And meanwhile, Severus became involved with Lucius Malfoy and the Slytherins,' Shacklebolt murmured thoughtfully. 'I wonder how much Malfoy knew about what happened?'  
  
McGonagall raised an eyebrow. 'As much as you did, if your sources were the same. How much did you already know, and from whom did you learn it?'  
  
Shacklebolt looked sheepish. 'Not much more than I told you earlier, to be honest. Peeves liked to drop hints but never said much worth hearing, and there aren't any portraits in the classrooms. The substance of the rumour was that Professor Snape knew some serious dark magic and that we should be careful of him.'  
  
The corner of Professor McGonagall's mouth twitched. 'Did it never occur to you that Professor Snape himself may have been responsible for putting that one about?'  
  
Shacklebolt chuckled. 'It crossed my mind, but not until I'd left. He always seemed alright to me: bit distant, rather strict, and not very fond of Gryffindors. That didn't bother us in Ravenclaw, of course.'  
  
He noted a momentary flicker of sadness in McGonagall's eye. 'No,' she said quietly. 'I don't think he's ever really forgiven Gryffindor House. Anyway,' she said, 'now you finally know, what are you going to do?'  
  
Shacklebolt leaned his chin in his hands, and gazed sideways out of the window. 'I'm going to review Moody's files on the Malfoys and see if it mentions him at all. There will be something; Moody was nothing if not thorough. It's not just a matter of Severus' power: where did he learn a spell like that? If James Potter knew enough about it to be scared, then there must be something documented somewhere. I'll see if Flourish and Blotts have any of Potter Senior's books. And I'm going to see if the Department of Mysteries have anything. Have to think of a good excuse though, they don't like letting even us in without a very good reason.'  
  
McGonagall gave him a quizzical look. 'Potter and his friends managed it. And so did several Death Eaters. Why on earth should you have problems?'  
  
Shacklebolt grinned. 'You clearly think our security is a mess.' McGonagall's eyes twinkled. 'You are wrong. Yes, it is possible for anybody to just walk into some areas. But only those areas of minimal importance. Areas like the one I want to get into are very closely guarded.'  
  
'You'll need some high level authorisation then,' McGonagall said lightly. Shacklebolt gave her a sly look. 'A certain junior undersecretary is taking a personal interest in this case; he interviewed me himself a few days after Severus disappeared. You could probably persuade him to give you the permission you need, if you were to suggest that you would report your findings to him.'  
  
'Ah yes, Mr Percy Weasley,' said Shacklebolt dreamily. 'Now there's a man whose ambition seriously outweighs his ability. He must have been a real credit to Slytherin; you'd think he would show his old Head a bit more sympathy.'  
  
'Percy was actually in Gryffindor, hard though that may be to believe. And while he is ambitious and rather naive, he is also extremely clever. So bear that in mind when you go to see him.'  
  
Shacklebolt nodded thoughtfully and stood up. 'Think I'll go and see him now. What about you, what do you need?'  
  
'Just let me review the files you have on the Longbottoms. After Severus disappeared a fortnight ago, a few possibilities occurred to me. There are some things I would like to check-'  
A flurry of wings interrupted them, and a tawny owl settled on the cubicle wall. Shacklebolt made to take the scroll held in its talon, but the bird hopped towards McGonagall, stretching out its leg. McGonagall opened the letter with a slight frown; Shacklebolt watched her face as she read it and saw her expression go blank. She swallowed.  
  
'I have to go to Hogwarts; something important has come up,' she said faintly. She gazed into space for a moment, then focused. 'Let me know what you find out.'**

* * *

The fire in Lupin's eyes seemed to fade suddenly, and he turned away to fix Snape's unconscious form with a slightly confused look. Moody had the impression that he had said more than he had intended and was now looking for a way back. No chance.  
  
'Go on then,' he growled softly. 'You've told me too much to stop there. Are you suggesting Snape isn't human?'  
  
'Not exactly,' Lupin muttered after a pause, frowning down into space. 'I don't have any proof; this is just what I've pieced together from my own research. The burning blood was always the clue I had that no one else did; no one else could have possibly found that out.'  
  
'Go on then,' said Moody. 'I've got all the time in the world; and believe me, most of my life's work was about forming theories from odd little clues. Let's hear it.'  
  
Lupin sat down on the end of Snape's bed, collecting his thoughts. He had been developing this particular theory for years, but never shared it with anyone until now. And now, he reflected, it suddenly seemed a bit thin, now he was going to open it up to the possibility of someone's ridicule. Too late to go back now  
  
'The book I found contained a legend about how vampires were created. As you probably know, there are many; but this one actually claimed that vampires and Dementors, among other things, all came as a result of the same failed spell. An attempt to bring someone back from the dead which only succeeded in releasing a terrible demon.'  
  
Moody grunted. 'I've heard stories like that, they're usually warnings against necromancy and similar dark arts.'  
  
Lupin nodded. 'In this case, the wizard who tried it was consumed by the demon, which then went on a devastating rampage, sucking life and soul out of every living thing. Not just people and animals, but crop failures too-'  
  
There was a sudden hammering on the door; then it burst open and Tonks fell into the room. Moody glowered.  
  
'I'm sorry,' Tonks gasped, 'but it's urgent. Harry's ill, Professor Snape cast a spell that's going wrong and killing them both, Dumbledore says there's a Pensieve somewhere with his bad memories in it and we need to find it if we're going to save their lives-'  
  
Moody held up his hand to stem the incoherent stream, his gaze becoming angry and intense as Tonks' words sank in.

* * *

Moody and Dumbledore sat alone in the kitchen, opposite each other at the table.  
  
Moody had given Harry a potion to keep him in from sleeping so deeply that he would enter Snape's coma dream; now the boy dozed in a state of semi-consciousness with Tonks watching over him. Lupin stayed with Snape, alone with his memories and his worries, the rest of his intriguing tale untold. But Moody had realised, even as he listened, that Albus Dumbledore was in a far better position to know the truth of Snape's peculiar talents than Lupin. Dumbledore had accepted a werewolf into his school. How could he have admitted someone like Snape without knowing what the boy was capable of?   
  
Now, decided Moody, now he would finally have some real answers.   
  


* * *

Yay beautiful people! Thank you, as ever, for the wonderful reviews and feedback! And sorry I've been so lax in updating. May was unbelievable! And now, annoyingly, I've lost the thread of my story somewhat... so sorry if this chapter seems like I'm spinning it all out a bit. There are important clues in it, even though I really haven't got to the main bones yet. But... serious revelations are coming up in the next chapter!

Sev as a Gryffindor - a theory I've had for a while, since reading PoA the second time. The defining characteristic of a Gryffindor is courage - almost the heroic kind of courage that gets a person killed. While according to Phineas, in OotP, Slytherins are also brave, but not stupid (e.g. not heroic). Yet Sev is sticking his head in the lion's mouth every time he spys for Dumbledore. And in PoA, we see him rush to save the trio when he sees on the Marauders map that they are in the Shrieking Shack with Sirius Black, an escaped murderer, and Remus Lupin, a werewolf who hasn't taken his potion at the full moon (and who almost killed Sev once before). So what does Sev do? If he was an ambitious, careful Slyth, then he would surely have raised the alarm and summoned a handy nearby Dementor before going anywhere near. He would still have had the glory of catching Sirius and saving the kids. But no... he rushes straight after them with nothing but his wand, without telling anyone where he's going. Very heroic - very Gryffindor. If you go through the books, there are other examples of Sev's rather single-minded courage; but that, for me, was the most striking.

And as for a Gryffindor being head of Slytherin - there's nothing to say that the head of a house has to have been a member of that house. And it would a clever move by Dumbledore, to have one of his own in there, checking out who was going towards Voldemort, listening to the kids of existing supporters, and keeping an eye out for those might not want to support Voldemort but find themselves compelled by people like Malfoy.

At the end of the day, it seems to me that there is equal evidence pointing to Sev being either a Slytherin or a Gryffindor, and I won't be surprised if he turns out to have been either. But at the moment... I think he is a Gryffindor ;D

Usually I like to say hi and thanks and respond to general comments to people by name, but I am so unbelievebly cut for time just now (haven't even seen the film yet!). So I'd just like to say, very best wishes to everyone who read my story, and blessings upon all those kind enough to review. LOVE YA!


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 19  
  
Harry stared dazedly at the ceiling. He felt as if he were floating, and every now and then he would sink a little towards a darkness punctuated by stars and the whisper of a breeze on the sea… and then he would suddenly be jerked back to this dim room, a place he did not want to be.  
  
Odd feelings tugged at him from different corners of his mind. Somewhere on the bed at his side was a book he wanted to read; but he didn't have the strength to sit up and reach for it. Somewhere in a place he could not quite remember there was a Pensieve. It was important, but he couldn't remember why. He felt so tired! If only he could sleep properly, then he would remember. The Pensieve… maybe Dobby knew where it was. Something in the back of his mind seemed to grasp at this idea; it was a good idea. Where was Dobby?  
  
'Harry? Who's Dobby?'  
  
Harry let his head loll sideways towards the voice. A small, gentle hand dabbed a cool cloth over his forehead, and the weariness seemed to ease. He focused on the girl with pink hair, her name just out of reach in the wandering recesses of his mind.  
  
'Dobby,' he whispered. 'Dobby was helping Snape. He might know where the Pensieve is…'**

* * *

**'So,' Moody growled softly, 'time for us to be honest with each other, Albus.'  
  
Dumbledore gazed impassively at the old Auror, his face unreadable. 'Indeed, Alastor,' he replied. 'Both of us.  
  
There was a long silence in the shadowy room; then Dumbledore spoke. 'Severus has cast a spell intended to share his power and abilities with Harry, to keep Voldemort from penetrating his mind. However, he appears to have removed such a large number of his own memories before going to fight the Dementors that he is unable to maintain the spell or return to consciousness. I am unable to undo the spell. As things currently stand, both Severus and Harry will die in a day or two.'  
  
Moody said nothing, but his eyes became cold.   
  
Dumbledore held his gaze without flinching. 'There is only one way to break the spell, Alastor. Even if we could find Severus' Pensieve, the only way of returning his memories to him could create a shock that would push him further away. I know you completed your Healer training. I know this procedure has been successfully carried out on other similar cases.'  
  
There was a short silence in which the cold look in Moody's eyes became calculating. 'I was having an interesting conversation with young Remus, just before Tonks arrived,' he said quietly.  
  
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at the apparent _non sequitur_, but waited for Moody to continue.  
  
'He pointed something out to me, which I confess I hadn't really thought about until then. But I can't deny it's very valid point.  
  
'He asked me why I was fighting so hard to save the life of a man I intended to hand over to a death sentence. It just occurs to me now that I never addressed that question – and now here you are, almost asking me the same thing, from a different angle. And I must confess: I am wondering.'  
  
Dumbledore frowned slightly. Moody went on.  
  
'The fact is, I've spent fourteen years desperate to know exactly what happened to Alice and Frank. I'd also quite like to know what happened to Octavian Malfoy; although if I had to choose, I'd rather know about Alice. And the chance to finally find out… well that's something I'd fight hard for. Have fought hard for: Snape almost died, you know. He'd lost more than four pints of blood by the time I got him back here. Oh Albus… you don't know how badly I want him to live.  
  
'But now we have this curious situation. Snape has cast a spell to protect Harry Potter. How very good of him. But alas! Something has gone wrong, and the charm is killing them both.  
  
'How is it, Albus, that a wizard who is so powerful that even you cannot undo his spell, has made such a profound and fatal mistake?'  
  
Moody let the question hang in the air, his eyes glittering with baleful triumph. Dumbledore's countenance was one of steely calm. He said nothing. Moody continued.  
  
'Let's try this for an explanation, shall we? Snape finds out the Ministry are coming after him to kill him. He knows he doesn't stand a chance – his Dark Mark will betray him. What is he going to do? Run away? What's the point? Then he hits upon a wonderful idea: what about a heroic death? So he casts this infernal charm on Harry, and carries out a very calculated suicide which will kill them both – is killing them both. He dies trying and failing to save Harry, earning himself the posthumous honour of fighting for the good guys – and he simultaneously earns himself equal glory from the Death Eaters for killing Harry Potter. If you've got to die, you've got die – but what a way to go.'  
  
Moody sat back, triumphant.**

* * *

**Tonks looked around the bedroom cautiously. There was certainly no sign of any house-elves … but if, as Harry said, this little creature was desperate to save Snape, he surely couldn't be far away?  
  
'Dobby?' she said aloud. No answer. 'My name's Tonks. I'm a friend of Professor Snape.'   
  
She moved slowly towards the wardrobe, her wand tucked into the pocket of her jeans, her hands held out, open and empty. 'I don't know if you heard anything that's been happening, but the fact is, Professor Snape – and Harry – are in terrible trouble, and we think you might be able to help.'  
  
Was it her imagination, or was the shadow in that corner darker than it should be?  
  
'There's no need to be afraid; I won't hurt you. I just want Professor Snape and Harry to get well, and Professor Dumbledore says we need Professor Snape's Pensieve to make them better. Can you help us? Please?'  
  
There was a soft sound behind her. Very slowly, Tonks turned around.  
  
On the bed next to Harry, crouched next to the pillow, was a small house-elf with big green eyes, wearing an outfit that would have made her laugh were she not so worried. She faced it with a gentle smile, keeping her moves slow and trying to project a comforting vibe.**

* * *

**Dumbledore closed his eyes and drew a deep slow breath, holding it for a long moment before letting it go in one long sigh. He opened his eyes and fixed Moody with a piercing gaze.   
  
'Alastor,' he said, and his voice held a clarity Moody had not heard for some time. 'That is the most preposterous theory I have ever heard.'**

* * *

**The little elf shuffled next to the pillow as if trying to back away. Tonks slid onto the end of the bed, her gaze never leaving the huge green eyes with their uncertain look. Harry let his head loll back towards Dobby, his eyes half-closed. 'Dobby,' he whispered, 'please tell us… I think he wants you to…'  
  
Dobby stroked a tiny hand through Harry's hair and crouched closer, so the boy's head was almost in his lap. His little face was a picture of misery. 'Oh Harry Potter sir,' he whispered, 'Dobby is so sorry, Dobby didn't know this would happen.'  
  
'Dobby,' Tonks said as softly as she could, 'you can make it right again. Professor Dumbledore is downstairs, all he needs is the Pensieve to make them both better.' She inched closer. 'If you tell me where it is, I could go and get it and you could stay here with Harry, if you like.'  
  
Dobby raised fearful eyes. 'Oh no miss, nobody but Dobby and Severus Snape can go there miss.' He looked away, at Harry's pale clammy face, and Tonks watched the elf struggle with himself. He turned back to her, ears dropping, eyes sad and defeated. 'Dobby has no choice if he wants his friends to live, does he miss?'  
  
Tonks felt a sudden rush of tears. She shook her head, unable to speak.**

* * *

**Moody glared. 'Is it, by God! Then you give me what Remus couldn't: a damn good reason not to just let the bastard die and save Harry before it's too late?'  
  
'I can give you an excellent reason, Alastor. But it is not a short story, and I fear we do not have time. Will you attempt the procedure on the promise of an explanation afterwards?'  
  
Moody glowered. 'No I won't,' he snapped petulantly. 'Tell me what you can before Minerva arrives. I can't do the procedure without help, and I can think of no better way of passing the intervening time than in having you part with a few of your damn secrets.'  
  
Dumbledore smiled grimly. 'Very well then.'**

* * *

**Hail to thee, fine and lovely folk! Thank you very much for all your lovely reviews.. although maybe I should say sorry that this chapter doesn't bring us much further on than the last one did - if I had a brain, chapters 18 & 19 would be all one chapter. But... anyway, it all gets going again in chapter 20; but that might be a couple of weeks away. Thank you all so much for the ego-fodder! Big boxes of choccies all round! **

**Thanks also for the interesting feedback on the idea that Snape might be a Gryffindor. Duj - I had actually considered those items, apart from the bit about Snape being confident of beating Sirius and James. Good points those. I think really, that there is evidence for Snape being either a Slyth or a Gryf, really. I'll be happy however it turns out - in the meantime it's a nice little twist for my fanfic! As long as it makes sense in the context of the story - does it? As for why he was picked on by the Marauders if he was a Gryffindor; here I'm going with an interpretation based on what Lily says in the "Snape's Worst Memory" chapter, accusing James of hexing people just because he can. I suspect that Snape was not his only victim but that maybe Snape was more sensitive, and had no friends to help or comfort him after like the other kids did. It's clear he's not a popular kid in that scene. And if he used to hang out with a gang of Slytherins, where are they when all this is going on? The only other people we see appear to be Gryffindors. what's a lone Slyth doing among them? **

**BTW - we've actually been discussing this (almost to exhaustion!) on the Severus Snape Slytherin Society list at Yahoogroups. Please come and join us - our page is by Syrena Done, currently moderated by me. I ought to put something about it in my profile, didn't I? If only I had a brain... ;) **

**Anyway, love, thanks and best wishes to cat, potionsfailre, syrinx, Charlie's Mum, Lea-serpent, Tsunami, mg08, crockywock, Kateri1, duj, dalamis, lavondyss21, bookofdays, clio, fanfictionfanatic, Ezmerelda and Barbara Kennedy! Thank you all very much! I'm off to write chapter 20 now! wave **


	20. Chapter Twenty

The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 20  
  
Dumbledore's eyes became distant, and Moody could see him assembling his memories, arranging a narrative. Moody pursed his lips impatiently. After all this time he found himself unwilling to allow his old friend the chance to fob him off with an edited version of events; not after discovering how much he had kept from him. Then, just as he was about to prompt, Dumbledore began to speak.  
  
'After finishing my studies at Hogwarts, I went travelling. During my final year, my interests in Defence Against The Dark Arts had led me to an obscure book in the depths of the library's Restricted Section. Among other things, it revealed to me a fascinating type of magic of which I wished to learn more. So I wrote a hopeful letter to its author – and to my delight, received an invitation to study.  
  
'The wizard in question was the head of a large and very old family who had, after centuries of study and research, become adept in many of the Dark Arts. However,' Dumbledore held up a long-fingered hand for forestall Moody's immediate interruption, 'they were not Dark Wizards. Far from it. The wizarding world owes them more than you can imagine, Alastor. For hundreds of years, this family had striven with all manner of Dark Magic, developing defences of all kinds. And I could not have hoped for more from my visit, for they were generosity itself. I was allowed the freedom of their extensive libraries; I was allowed to translate some of their books; and the head of the family, Anzori, assisted me in the compilation of new ones. Anzori taught me everything I wished to know about Occlumency and its associated disciplines. It was he who gave me my Pensieve.  
  
'They were a private, almost secretive family, who filtered their discoveries to the outside world quietly and carefully. However, they were, as I discovered, very generous with their knowledge to someone they had cause to trust. Indeed,' and Dumbledore's eyes grew suddenly sad, 'I wonder if their trust was the cause of their downfall.'  
  
There was another pause; this time Moody could not wait. 'What happened?'  
  
Dumbledore drew a breath, his eyes troubled.  
  
'They were murdered. It happened almost seventy years after I last saw them, but I knew nothing of it until much later.'  
  
'How? Who did it?'  
  
'I am not entirely sure. I know there were some muggles involved, for most of the family had been killed with muggle weapons; but there had to have been a powerful wizard to get them close enough, to get inside their castle. However, they failed in their true objective, for Anzori survived.  
  
'I do not know how or why; when I saw him next, he told me little more than I have told you now. He had returned one day to find his family dead; and he had stayed only long enough to bury them and secure the castle against anyone else who might come there. Then he left, and came to England where he assumed an English name, and after some years, remarried. I saw him when he came to Hogwarts, to ask me if I would accept his son as a student.'  
  
There was a quiet pause which Moody ended with a question. 'So that spell Snape cast when he was at school… that was something his father taught him?   
  
Dumbledore gave a wry smile. 'Yes. It was only part of something potentially quite lethal; and that was when I discovered how extremely gifted Severus is.'  
  
'When Tonks turned up, Remus was telling me an interesting story about a necromancer who supposedly managed to bring vampires and Dementors into the world,' Moody growled. 'Apparently James thought he recognised Snape's spell as one of his. What's your perspective on that?'  
  
Dumbledore shook his head. 'Interesting. If so, then James' assumption was both very near and completely wide of the mark. The spell was indeed created by an evil man; but as with many things, evil lies, not within an object, but in its use. Severus had no intention of taking it to its original conclusion, although he knew how; he merely wanted to impress. The poor child had no idea the magnitude of what he had done, or of its potential consequences. Anzori did his best to teach him how to use his gifts, but there was so little time left for them to share; he died when Severus was only eighteen. I believe Severus has never understood the true extent of his own strength. This is why the charm is exhausting him and Harry so quickly – in his desperation he gave it far too much power.'  
  
Moody's eyes narrowed. 'His blood burns werewolves, Albus. Remus has an idea that he isn't human, but I'm fairly certain that he is; apart from the blood, he's as normal as you or I.'  
  
Dumbledore nodded slowly, his eyes distant again. 'Anzori hoped so much of Severus. He set out to sire a new son to replace the ones who had been taken from him, and he… ' Dumbledore's voice trailed off, an odd look in the bright blue eyes. Moody frowned, an idea which he found rather repellent forming in his mind.  
  
'What are you saying? A replacement son? My God, Albus, these are human beings we're talking about – a man can't "replace" dead sons!' Moody broke off, disgusted; then, 'You mean he actually set out to _create_ a person whose blood could kill a werewolf?'  
  
'Or a vampire. Or any of a number of other Dark creatures, I should imagine,' Dumbledore replied quietly. 'Did he intend to? I do not doubt it. Could he do it? I do not know. Was he right to try? That I would not presume to judge; because I know why he would have done it.'

* * *

Tonks brushed a hand across her eyes, forcing her emotions back. Dobby watched her carefully, then gently pushing Harry's head back onto the pillows, padded down the bed towards her.  
  
'Miss cares a lot about Severus Snape, doesn't she, miss?' he enquired softly.  
  
Tonks nodded, swallowing. 'I don't want him to die,' she whispered. 'He's been a good friend to me.'  
  
Dobby gazed up at her with anxious, innocent eyes. 'Dobby will fetch Severus Snape's Pensieve, miss. Dobby will be as fast as he can, miss, but he has a long way to go. But Severus Snape will not die easily, miss. He is very strong, and he has not yet finished his spell.'  
  
A tiny hand which felt like velvet stroked her cheek. Big green eyes stared earnestly up at her – then there was a loud crack which made her jump. Dobby was gone.

* * *

'Alastor… do you ever wonder why it is that creatures such as Dementors can be driven aside by any spell that we might use?'  
  
There was a short silence while Moody's brain wrapped itself around the realisation that this was not a rhetorical question. 'No,' he said at last.  
  
Dumbledore gave a humourless chuckle. 'No, Alastor. You have always so practical, so single-minded. So much certainty. That is what has always made you such a very powerful wizard and a singularly effective Auror. But consider the question for a moment, Alastor. Dementors can suck out the soul of any living creature. They hunger constantly, rapaciously, for human emotion, the human life force. And yet only the most gifted wizards can perform the Patronus charm that keeps them at bay. Muggles have not even that defence. How is it that we are not under constant threat? There are, apparently, six billion human souls on the planet. Plenty of prey. How do they resist?'  
  
Moody's attention had suddenly focused. Vague ideas and theories, strands of memory, all gradually coming together while Dumbledore spoke, now coalesced into a single idea which sank into his mind like a thin shard of ice. Nausea stirred in the pit of his stomach. 'No…' he whispered.  
  
Dumbledore gazed into space, a slight smile ghosting his lips. 'So Remus thought he knew, did he? I must ask him how he came to his conclusions.'  
  
'He found a book left lying about in the library and decided to keep it because it told him things about lycanthropy. He didn't get much further than the part about a failed resurrection spell…'  
  
Dumbledore nodded. 'Yes,' he whispered. 'But that book would have only told him half the tale.  
  
'Centuries ago, a sorcerer of great power lost his beloved wife. Insane with grief, he attempted a spell to bring her back to life; but as you know, there is no spell capable of achieving such a miracle; but this has never stopped anyone from trying.   
  
'There are many creatures in the spirit world which covet mortal life, and they constantly wait for someone to attempt such a spell, and thus open for them a channel into a body of flesh.  
  
'Power attracts power. Such was magnitude of this man's ability and desperation that the open channel was seized upon by, not some minor creature, but a monstrous demon of obscene power and malevolence.'  
  
Dumbledore stopped for a moment, his breath ragged, his eyes full of an emotion Moody could not identify.   
  
'The creature devoured the sorcerer, and proceeded to consume the life-force of everything in its path-'  
  
'Crop failures…' Moody muttered, remembering Remus' story.  
  
Dumbledore nodded absently. 'The demon was eventually driven back, by means of a complex charm involving the willing sacrifice of blood…'  
  
'A _willing_ sacrifice?' Moody growled sceptically.  
  
Dumbledore gave a hard, thin smile, his eyes bright. 'A choice between dying and knowing those you love will be safe, and of watching them die, knowing you will follow them. What would you choose, Alastor? I remember a brave young woman who made precisely such a choice sixteen years ago. The strength and success of her spell reflects the willingness with which she sacrificed her own life.'  
  
Moody bit his lip, his eyes savage and angry.  
  
'Old magic, of the most powerful and profound kind. But this spell did not involve the expense of someone's life; it was a sacrifice of blood, a covenant. Every seven years, life blood willingly offered; and in return, the demon withdrew from the mortal world, and his influences and diverse corruptions – Dementors, vampires and every other foul thing spawned by that failed necromancy – were held in abeyance.'  
  
'Held in abeyance…?' Moody echoed.  
  
Dumbledore nodded. 'Every seven years, blood is due. That first man, not a wizard, but a muggle warrior, I understand; condemned to remain where the demon was finally conquered, to shed his blood. Married the shaman's daughter and raised a son to carry his blood and sacrifice in his place when he was dead. And so on, down the generations: the family grew, and studied, and fought; and every seven years the eldest male made sacrifice… until someone tried to annihilate the line, fifty years ago.'  
  
The two old wizards held each others' gaze in icy silence.   
  
'So you see,' Dumbledore finished in a quiet voice, 'Severus did not run because he was guilty of any crime. He believed he would die if the Ministry caught him; he knew it likely that the Death Eaters would discover that he had been betraying them if he was arrested. And he knew that if he died, childless, then-'  
  
'- there would be no more blood sacrifices…'  
  
'The covenant would be broken, and the demon would return.'

* * *

Thank you everyone for your reviews and feedback! Back to my usual fulsome comments in the next chapter, but I'd just like to say love and best wishes to everyone reading, especially those reviewing - and quickly: sorry, I don't know why it's all in boldface, it's only happened since ff.net changed their preview facility to include "quick edit" (I'm hoping I've sussed it this time round though); and Gina, I've hunted Mugglenet and can find no reference to JKR categorically saying Snape's a Slyth. I'd be interested in a direct link if you've got one...

Take care, everyone - I hope to post chapter 21 v. soon! Thank you and goodnight ;


	21. Chapter Twenty One

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 21**

Moody gazed almost blankly at Dumbledore. He felt a curious detachment as the rational part of his mind quelled the rising fury and lent him a steady voice.

'Let me see if I have this correct, Albus. Snape is obscenely powerful – and yet he does not know what he is capable of. But, despite believing himself no more gifted than anyone else AND knowing if he dies childless this monster is once more unleashed on the earth… he risks his life daily by spying for the Order? Or is he somehow indestructible? Which raises the question of how such a person might die; and yet you tell me that he is dying…?'

Moody broke off in exasperation and disbelief. Dumbledore gave another slow shake of his head.

'I understand your questions, Alastor, although I can only offer my assumptions as answers. Severus made a potentially fatal choice, all by himself, when he decided to leave Voldemort. After he came to Frank, he faced another choice: whether to spend the rest of his life in Azkaban, or whether to spy for us. A prison sentence could have been just as fatal, since he would have been unable to maintain the covenant. So the choice was spying.

'At the time the risks seemed minimal. Occlumency is almost second nature to him; given how completely he had turned away from them, I knew he had to have been shielding his mind and emotions from the Malfoys and the other Death Eaters – and Voldemort – for some time. We were, therefore, asking him to do very little more than he had been doing anyway, and incidentally allowing him to continue with his own private destiny; although the Longbottoms never knew this. Consider for a moment, Alastor, the potential consequences of Voldemort discovering who and what Severus is. The only conclusion is that Voldemort – still – does not know.'

Moody's normal eye narrowed into Dumbledore's steady gaze. 'But someone does, don't they? Snape gave himself away with that spell at school.' He broke off again, frowning. 'How much of his own family history does Snape know? You said his father didn't have time to teach him everything. Thinking about it, they only really had the school holidays, and then the old man died just after his son finished his final exams. Does he know how much you know?'

Dumbledore considered the questions, but as he was about to answer, the kitchen door opened and Minerva McGonagall came in. She looked pale and worried, but determined. She nodded to Moody as she came over to Dumbledore, pulling a sheet of paper out of her bag.

'It took me a while to track them all down. There are two missing.'

Dumbledore scanned the list in his hand as McGonagall put her bag on the table and began unpacking bottles and paper bags. Moody picked one up and gave a snort.

'I have to admire your faith in me, Albus,' he said, putting the bottle down. 'But if I felt unprepared to try this spell before, it's nothing to how I feel now you've told me what'll happen if Snape dies!'

McGonagall turned an uncharacteristically pathetic glance on Moody. 'There is no one else, Alastor,' she said. 'The only people who know Severus is here are we in this house, and Kingsley Shacklebolt. No one else can be allowed to know.'

'You were a gifted Healer, Alastor,' said Dumbledore gently. 'We will support you and lend you our strength while you work. We shall not compromise our chances of success by worrying about the possible outcomes, for those are inevitable if we do nothing.'

Moody looked at them both, at Dumbledore's bright eyes full of faith, and McGonagall's full of hope. He nodded, taking a deep breath and summoning his resolve. 'Let's do it then,' he growled.

* * *

Harry drifted in and out of his twilight doze. He was aware that Dobby had been gone some time, and that Tonks was standing by the window, brooding into the failing light. He closed his eyes, only for a moment, it seemed; but when he opened them, it was to see Lupin standing with her, his arm around her shoulders as he spoke in a low voice. Harry blinked again: suddenly the room was full of people. 

'…will need to remove the impediment to the charm; anything which inhibits that could also stop us breaking it… '

It felt as someone had taken a heavy blanket off his head. Harry sat up, suddenly fully conscious for the first time in twenty-four hours. He gazed fuzzily around at the ominously silent group, and wondered what was going to happen next.

* * *

Moody look around the room in which Snape lay. Dumbledore and McGonagall were next door, reviving Harry and explaining what they were about to attempt to Lupin and Tonks. He knew the information would be badly received, but all points considered, this was their only option. How he wished there was another. 

He finished administering another _vitalis_ potion and settled Snape on his back, the blankets tucked in around his waist. Never did get round to healing the rest of the wound, he reflected absently, gazing at the bandages covering the man's body from waist to neck. The ghost of Snape's left arm lay in translucent repose, the long nails slightly sunk into the surface of the blanket as if into a shallow pool of water. At least he now understood how Snape was able to detach himself from the Dark Mark, and he almost laughed at the absurdity of the thought. How irrelevant all his earlier questions now seemed in the face of Dumbledore's bombshell! And yet it seemed unreal, now he was dealing with the mundanity of Snape's basic care, nothing more than a supernatural horror story.

There was a knock at the door. Moody turned sharply and saw Dumbledore and the others waiting outside, the tall figure of Shacklebolt at the back of the group, and the Potter boy leaning on Lupin's arm. 'Come in!' he called gruffly, and set the bottle McGonagall had brought him, now opened, on the table beside the bed.

They trooped in silently. Harry looked pale and exhausted, following McGonagall without a word to sit on the end of Moody's bed. Tonks had clearly been crying, but seemed resigned. Lupin put a comforting arm around her as they stood together by the window. The others looked resolute and grim, but Moody thought he detected something else in Shacklebolt's expression, something which suggested he had important information to share. Moody made a mental note to ask him later.

Dumbledore glanced over at him, silently asking if they were ready, as Shacklebolt closed the door. Moody gave a small nod, then addressed the room.

'Right. This is a straightforward procedure, but it takes some energy, which is why I've asked for you all to be here.' He looked meaningfully around the room, holding each gaze in turn to be sure they all understood him. They did; although Harry seemed to have become more lucid and was wearing a rather confused frown. Moody ignored him.

'Thank you. OK, Remus and Tonks, if you stand either side of the window; draw back the curtains, but don't open it. Shacklebolt, you're fine where you are, if you could just move a little more towards Tonks so you're between us…'

Harry blinked slowly around the room as they all moved into position, his face looking oddly naked without its spectacles. 'What are you going to do?' he asked in a hoarse whisper.

'It's alright, Harry,' McGonagall whispered, surreptitiously tightening her hold on his shoulders and drawing him closer to her, even as she shifted her own position so she was facing Shacklebolt across the room. 'We're going to make you both better.'

Harry's frown deepened, aware that McGonagall was uncharacteristically talking to him as if he was a child. Before he could say anything more, however, Tonks burst out in a shrill voice, 'It's too dangerous!'

Dumbledore and Moody exchanged tense glances.

'It's the only chance either of them have, Tonks,' Dumbledore said gently. 'The longer we wait, the weaker Harry and Severus become.'

'But Dobby's gone to get the Pensieve; we could give Professor Snape back his memories and-'

'There's no guarantee that would help,' Moody broke in gruffly. 'We know whatever memories he removed had to be ones he didn't like, and we'd be giving them all back in one go, without any way of warning him what was going to happen.' He and Dumbledore exchanged the flicker of a glance. 'He's still physically weak; the shock could be too much.'

'But what if this doesn't work?' Tonks asked, her eyes deep with horror and confusion. 'Spells cast by Sirius' mother are still working! And this one's a lot more powerful than a Permanent Sticking Charm!'

Harry looked up at Moody and Dumbledore, unnerved by Tonks' words.

'It's not the same, Tonks,' replied Moody quietly. 'The Permanent Sticking Charm didn't belong to Madame Black, and one day it'll just wear out. But _this_ spell seems to be Snape's own invention – and two of us don't have time to wait.'

'There's got to be another way,' Tonks moaned, but Harry could hear defeat in her voice. Lupin drew her into hug, his eyes miserable.

'Severus is in no condition to lift the spell,' Dumbledore continued gently. 'We are unable to do so either. In circumstances like these, the only option is a procedure to halt the life processes of the wizard who cast it.'

Harry blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog in his mind as the impossible sank in. He stared in blank disbelief at Dumbledore. 'You're going to kill him?' he asked.

Moody regarded him with a glint in his normal eye. 'Miss him, would you Potter?' He gave a sour chuckle. 'It's the only chance either of you've got. The charm is killing both of you. And the only way we can break it is by killing him. At least we'd save one of you.'

Harry dropped his gaze, nausea stirring in the pit of his stomach. He did not want Snape to die to save him; he did not want anyone to die. His head felt heavy; he rubbed his eyes as the familiar tiredness began to wash over him, sucking him unchecked towards Snape's dream world. If the charm was leeching power from them both, would he not also be caught up in Snape's death?

Moody seemed either unaware or unconcerned by this possibility. He turned his attention instead towards Snape lying helpless in his bed, magical eye scanning his body in long, rapid sweeps. Then he took a pair of long-nosed scissors from the table beside the bed and began cutting away the bandages.

Harry shivered. He could almost imagine how the blades would feel as they slid against his chest, the chill of metal on exposed flesh. He looked away, and, from the corner of his eye, saw Professor McGonagall watching him with concern.

Moody pushed the bandages aside and straightened up. 'Right,' he growled quietly. 'Let's have you two' – he glanced towards Tonks and Lupin – 'standing over there by the window like I asked. Albus, you go the other side of his head.'

Silently everyone did as they were asked. Harry stared at the thin naked figure lying on the bed in front of him. Snape looked so vulnerable and small as Moody loomed over him, wand raised in one hand.

Harry felt the blackness of the faint coming on him again; and now he let himself sink, willing himself inwards. He knew it was the only way he had of warning Snape of what was about to happen.

* * *

HI lovely readers! Sorry it's been so long, and as ever, huge thanks for the positive feedback! As you can see, I reached a rather crucial part of the plot – and then got a bit stuck. But I think I'm back on track now – just over a year after posting the first chapter! Really didn't think it would take this long… but that's Real Life for you, isn't it? : Hope it was worth the wait ;) Lots of Love, S. 

P.S. On the subject of Snape being a Gryffindor: well, there were some very logical reasons for thinking he may have been! But JKR has specifically said, in one of her recent website updates, that he was a Slytherin. So I did think about relabelling this story AU… but then realised it doesn't actually make much difference to the story if Snape's a Gryffindor or a Slyth. So maybe I'll think about doing that after I've finished it!


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 22**

The silver sand faded into view, and Harry raised his head to look out over the sea. The full moon still shone full and heavy in the starry sky, but far in the distance he thought he could see a storm gathering. He stared out at it and, in this place where no fear could upset his mind and cloud his thoughts, he wondered what Snape could possibly do with the news he was about to give him. Would the shock push him out of this strange mental world? Maybe there was a book in that library – some memory he hadn't strained out into the Pensieve – that would show him a way out.

Harry turned towards the door in the rock face. It stood open, a full rectangle of darkness in the pale stone. He frowned. Why was this door open when the one into the library was half closed? It would make more sense to close the door that led to the outside and leave the inner one open, wouldn't it? And why only half shut?

Harry began to walk towards the door, an idea forming. He took a firm hold of the handle, and pulled hard. The door wouldn't move. He nodded slowly. Just like the library door, which hadn't moved in the slightest, even when he ran head first into it. He had forgotten to tell Dumbledore about the doors – but these were surely the crucial detail in Snape's dream world. This was the way in, every time. Surely – obviously! – this had to be the way out? Harry turned from the door and ran as fast as he could for the library.

* * *

Moody leaned down, wand raised in one hand. Potter had his head in his hands, apparently unable to look; he was leaning against Minerva as if in a swoon. No doubt the charm was absorbing him; there really was no more time to lose. Moody was loath to follow this course of action; strong though Snape's heart was, he was still suffering under deadly physical wounds and a Dementor attack which might well have drained his will to live. But as things stood, he was dying and so was Harry. This was the only chance they had. But it was an ugly one.

* * *

Harry ran, up the stairs, along the corridor. A much narrower strip of light escaped the open door than before, but he slid sideways past it without breaking his run, and headed for the fireplace. He stared wildly around for Snape. There was no sign of him.

'Sir!' he shouted, 'Professor Snape!' No answer. 'SEVERUS!'

'Harry?' the voice came from far away from the giant window, down in the most shadowed corner of the library. Harry ran towards it. Snape appeared, young and healthy, one long finger marking his place in the book he was holding.

'They're going to kill you!' Harry blurted. 'Moody's going to kill you to break the spell! He says it's the only way!'

The book slipped out of Snape's fingers. 'No,' he whispered, his dark eyes widening.

'Yes! He says you're dying anyway, and I'll die too, but this way they could save me…'

Snape gazed down almost blankly at him.

'… but listen, I think I know a way out. You're dying – and the door to this room is closing. It was only half closed the last time I came in, but now it's almost shut. But the one downstairs, leading to the beach where I always arrive, that one's still wide open.'

Harry paused for breath, gazing earnestly up at Snape, willing him to understand. 'I think that when the door closes, you'll be trapped in here – that will be when you die. But if you were to walk out of this room before it closes – back with me onto the beach – then maybe you could leave properly, wake up in the real world…'

Snape's gaze had drifted away from Harry, over his head towards the giant window and its view of the stars. 'No,' he whispered. 'I can't leave here. He told me to wait for him, if I leave he won't be able to find me…'

This wasn't the answer Harry had been expecting, but there was no time for random questions. 'Whoever it is won't be able to find you at all if you die,' he said, grabbing Snape's arm.

But Snape shook him off with a scowl, the distant expression suddenly gone. 'And if the spell is lifted or broken you'll be exposed.'

He strode up the room towards the window, robes billowing. Outside the clouds began to gather as the storm headed up from the sea.

* * *

Moody placed his hand on Snape's naked chest. The skin was so tight against the ribs that he could feel the heart beating beneath them; but it was a steady rhythm, and strong. He spread his fingers, the tip of his thumbnail almost touching one nipple while his ring finger brushed the other. Gently he pressed his fingers into the thin flesh, reaching out for the life force flowing beneath his fingers, fathoming its unique shape and melody.

He concentrated, letting himself sink into a trance in which he was aware of nothing but that fragile life force, a silver thread in the dark. He felt his own emotions stir deep inside, a profound awareness of the sacred responsibility he was now assuming. He began to chant in a slow, deep voice.

* * *

The room darkened as the clouds thickened. Snape stood in the middle of the window, glaring defiantly into the oncoming darkness as it engulfed the stars. Harry stood just behind him, knowing rather than feeling a kind of fear. The only light was from the fire, but what had previously been a welcoming blaze was beginning to die, the logs turning to grey ash before collapsing in the grate.

There was a deep rumble of thunder from the horizon, then a blinding flash of lightning tore across the sky. Snape clutched his chest and fell gasping to his knees.

* * *

Snape's ghostly hand clawed at the bedclothes, sinking through them.

'He's fighting it,' murmured Lupin.

Moody focused harder, his voice taking on a deeper, more powerful tone.

* * *

Snape gasped, soiling the fine silk with perspiration as he clutched frantically at his heart. He turned towards the lightning with a ferocious scowl, a long-nailed hand raised, claw-like, towards the storm. In a guttural voice he snarled an incantation. The clouds and darkness were abruptly pushed back, and in the empty grate, the ashes burst into flame.

* * *

A gleam of sweat was visible on Snape's face and body, and under the sheets his legs gave a sudden, jolting kick. Dumbledore put his hand on Snape's brow, and softly began to whisper words of comfort: 'It's all right, Severus, trust us, we are going to bring you back. You are safe, you are safe, just give in, it's all right…'

* * *

There was a deafening crash of thunder, and the darkness rushed back with a force that knocked Harry off his feet. Snape wailed, and Harry crawled towards the sound, reaching out with a shaking hand. He could feel the barrier created to separate him from his negative emotions melt like a sheet of ice; and terror rose in its place. His fingers closed on silk, and Snape grabbed at him with a terrible desperation.

Harsh, blinding flashes of lightning split a darkness that was almost total, and in the intermittent bursts of light Harry could see the room begin to vanish. The walls had already faded, and in the encroaching shadow, bookcases shivered and disappeared, a creeping, darkening fog filling the space they had left. Harry watched, wide-eyed, as the rug-covered settees vanished, then the hearthrugs, and finally the huge inglenook fireplace.

Snape gasped and clung, sinking his long-nailed fingers into Harry's shoulders. Harry buried his face in Snape's hair and held on tightly, willing him to fight it, offering him whatever strength he had left to give.

* * *

McGonagall tightened her grasp on Harry as he keeled into her lap with a groan.

Snape's body twitched and convulsed under Moody's hand. The old wizard held him, never breaking his grip or the rhythm of his chant, while Dumbledore clasped Snape's hand and whispered in a low, soothing voice.

The dark eyes sprang open, staring upwards. A guttural moan issued from his throat, and his body arched under Moody's heavy palm.

* * *

Harry and Snape clutched each other in the dark like terrified children. Harry began to feel weak, light headed and insubstantial. His fought against his sapping strength, but the body he was trying to hold was already loosing substance as it slid from his grasp. He moaned, desperately fighting to keep a grip. But it was no good.

A last drifting sensation of silk; then he was kneeling alone in the void, his arms empty.

* * *

Moody never faltered in his chant, but in the dim light Lupin could see his hand strain against the body pressing against it.

And then it was over. Snape's skeletal body went limp, his open eyes glazing. He sank back with a last rattling breath, deeper into the mattress than when he had lain unconscious.

Harry opened his eyes and sat up in the almost utter silence. He was wide awake, feeling as refreshed as if he had slept for a week. He stood up, and McGonagall's hand fell from his shoulder as he gazed around, taking in Lupin's bloodless countenance and the tears streaking Tonks' face. The only sound in the room was Moody, still chanting steadily under his breath, his palm still heavy on Snape's chest. Dumbledore sat with his head bowed, the long fingered hand held in both of his.

Harry moved over to the bed, his mind immobile as he took in the sight of Snape's fragile, wasted body and the blank, staring eyes. As he watched, the ghost of Snape's hand faded and disappeared.

There was a moment of utter stillness in Harry's mind, as if all his thoughts were a pendulum that had come to rest, bringing time to a halt. He dropped his gaze from the dead face and the bandaged stump, turning away to the only light in the room: the street light shining through the thin curtains between Lupin and Tonks. He stared vacantly at it; and then something incredible happened.

In the centre of the dim light, one point seemed to intensify. It lengthened, then broadened, then took on a shape… and suddenly Snape was standing at the end of his own bed. Harry stared, transfixed. The contrast between the emaciated figure in the bed and the ghost standing at its foot was profound. He looked as he had in the dream world, strong and youthful, with a noble, aquiline profile and long flowing hair. It seemed incredible that this could ever have been Severus Snape. Harry had been prepared to believe that the person he had seen in the dream world was a fantasy – but a person couldn't fantasise the appearance of his own ghost, could he? The creature now turning away from its corpse in anguish was almost a stranger.

Moody reached into his pocket for the tiny bottle McGonagall had brought him. One-handed and still chanting under his breath, he removed the stopper. Carefully, without lifting his hand from Snape's chest, he allowed the dark liquid inside to ooze under his fingers and into Snape's skin.

Harry became aware the indistinguishable words had changed, the rhythm subtly altering, the voice rising in tone and power. Snape's ghost halted as it reached the window, and seemed to struggle slightly, as if caught by an unseen web. It turned, wide-eyed, then moved forward, walking slowly through the bed and through his body. As Harry watched, Snape reached out long, pearly white hands to clasp his own dead face; and then he was gone.

There was another moment of silence, then the silvery shape of Snap's missing forearm reappeared. Snape's body heaved; his mouth opened, noisily sucking in air. There was a collective gasp of relief around the room and a few claps of applause. Dumbledore smiled as the hand in his suddenly tightened. 'Welcome back, Severus,' he smiled warmly. Snape blinked at him, looking confused.

Moody took his hand off Snape's chest and sat back, his satisfied expression hiding the intense relief at his own success. 'Okay folks,' he said, 'Thank you very much, I think we can say the operation was a success. But –' he raised a warning hand as Tonks and Lupin came forward, ' – he still needs a lot of care and rest. I must ask you all to leave now, please.'

Everyone started to file out, but Harry stayed where he was until Lupin's hand landed on his shoulder. 'C'mon,' said Lupin, 'time for bed, I think.' Harry allowed himself to be pulled away, but noticed that Dumbledore had shown no sign of leaving, while Shacklebolt was exchanging urgent words with Moody. Then he was being steered into his own room next door.

'I'll see you tomorrow, alright?' said Lupin. He looked more tired than usual, and Tonks looked exhausted, despite the bright look of joy in her eyes. Harry nodded, and the door closed.

Alone in his room, wide awake and filled with a strange sense of confusion, Harry picked up his watch from the chair beside his bed. It was almost midnight.

* * *

Happy new year everyone! And thank you very much for the kind reviews! Hope you like the new chapter - and I hope it's readable! I keep putting in rows of stars or lines to denote section breaks, and keeps taking them out sigh. I've gone through putting them all back in with the QuickEdit thing, but I'm not sure how successful it's been.

Anyway, hope you all like it :D Warmest wishes and blessings to you all :D


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 23**

'I need to speak to you,' said Shacklebolt in a low voice.

'It'll have to wait at least an hour,' Moody replied, 'I'm not quite finished here.'

Shacklebolt nodded. 'Okay. I'll be in the kitchen.'

The door closed. Dumbledore laid Snape's hand back on the bed at his side. Snape was staring at the ceiling, blinking slowly as if trying to keep from falling asleep. Both of Moody's eyes were fixed on him, a dark frown forming.

'I congratulate you, Alastor,' Dumbledore said quietly. Moody's attention snapped to him as if he had forgotten Dumbledore was still there. He grunted.

'Thanks, but there's still a hell of a way to go. Everything I said about his physical condition still applies. I think I'd better get on with healing his back right now – I should have finished it earlier. Very nasty wound.'

There was a pregnant silence in which the two old wizards held each others' gaze as if trying to decide whether to say more. Eventually Dumbledore nodded, rising and moving towards the door. 'Then I shall leave you to it, and look forward to seeing you both later tomorrow – or should that be today?' He smiled gently as he closed the door behind him, but Moody's attention was already focused back on Snape.

* * *

Harry sat down on the edge of his bed, feeling strangely disgruntled. If anyone had asked him, he would have been hard put to explain exactly what was wrong. At the back of it was an odd longing to talk to someone, about anything. But everyone had gone to bed, even Hedwig, who was just visible on top of the wardrobe, head tucked under one snowy wing. Only Harry was wide awake and at a loose end. 

The light from the street lamp was brighter in here than in Snape's room, and it shone right onto the bed. It was bright enough to read, and Harry suddenly remembered that someone had brought him a book. He put on his glasses and had a look round. There was nothing on the bed… but on the other side, a large book-shaped parcel had fallen on the floor, along with a letter and a couple of scrolls. He dumped the lot in the middle of the bed, then drew the curtains back to get as much light in as possible. Making a mental note to ask Lupin how to turn on the gas lamps without magic, Harry sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed and began to unwrap the book.

Moody stared down at Snape, a small smile playing at his lips. The exultation of successfully casting the charm which had returned Snape and Harry to the land of the living was fading, overtaken by the realisation that what he had wanted so badly for so long was almost in his reach. Snape still stared at the ceiling, cold black eyes pointedly avoiding Moody's gaze.

Moody reached down to check the carotid pulse, and Snape flinched under the touch, nostrils flaring slightly. The old wizard wrapped his large fingers gently around the back of Snape's neck, forcing his head around until they were facing each other. Moody gave a nasty smile.

'Welcome back, Snape,' he growled. 'Thought we'd lost you there for a moment. But old Moody wasn't going to give up that easily. He never does.'

Snape swallowed.

'Your throat's a bit dry, but I've got something to make that better.' Moody took a bottle from a pocket of his cloak and poured a few drops onto Snape's throat, gently rubbing it into the skin with his thumb. 'And then you and I will be able to have a nice long chat while I finish healing your back. It's going to hurt, but I can see a bit of physical pain won't bother you.'

* * *

The book was large and fat and all about Occlumency, so Harry decided to read it later. The letter was from Dumbledore, about the Occlumency book, and Harry read it at a glance, then tucked inside the book's leather cover. That left a very fat scroll with a broken seal, and a much thinner one with a seal which looked a bit like the Gringotts bank crest. Harry opened it. 

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_This is to inform you that you are named in the will of the late Mr Sirius Black, of no fixed address, England. Mr Black's executors, Gringotts Bank, therefore invite you to call at our premises in Diagon Alley at your earliest convenience._

_Sincerely,_

_Master of Private Accounts,_

_Gringotts Bank_

_England_

Sirius' will. Harry closed his eyes, the letter crumpling slightly in his tightening grip. Of course Sirius would have had a will – he was rich. And after everything that happened, where else to keep it than Gringotts Bank? Harry smoothed the letter out and re-rolled it, pushing it under the pillow. It was the early hours of Sunday, so he would have to wait at least a day to go to Gringotts anyway. But somehow, he didn't really want to go. A bleak sense of despair welled up, and he sank his head into his hands with a sigh.

'Harry Potter sir?'

Harry started. Dobby the house elf was standing on the bed just in front of him, bulbous green eyes filled with concern.

'Dobby has Severus Snape's Pensieve, Harry Potter sir,' the little elf whispered. 'Dobby hopes he is not too late.'

'No!' Harry said, 'You're not too late – well, Moody managed to break the charm, but Snape's okay.'

Dobby's huge eyes widened. 'Dobby was too late,' he moaned. 'The charm protecting Harry Potter has been broken!' He jumped off the bed and ran to the wall separating them from Snape's room. 'And the One-Eyed Wizard is still there, still keeping Severus Snape prisoner!'

Harry slid off the bed after him. 'It's okay, Dobby, Snape's going to be fine, and so am I. Look, I've got this book from Dumbledore about how to protect my mind by myself. Snape will get better, and everything will be all right.'

But Dobby had his face pressed against the wall, long nose flattened down, as if he could see through it. 'The One-Eyed Wizard is hurting Severus Snape!' he said, and Harry perceived a note of something he had never previously heard in the little elf's voice. 'Dobby must go!'

And to Harry's amazement, Dobby took a few steps back, then ran straight through the wall as if it wasn't there.

* * *

Snape lay on his stomach, propped up on two pillows so his back was raised while his head flopped onto the mattress, giving him a sideways view of the room. Above him, out of his range of vision, Moody calmly excised a section of damaged skin from between his shoulder blades with a small, razor sharp knife. It was a peculiar sensation. Not what Snape would have described as painful, but somehow intense and vaguely nauseating. His remaining hand clenched around the edge of the bed and his breathing became shallower and faster. He was glad his throat didn't hurt anymore, because if he had to endure much more of this, he thought he might scream. 

'There,' said Moody, dropping the bruised and bloody strip of flesh into a silver dish, 'That wasn't so bad, was it?'

He caught Snape's wrist as the fingers relaxed, and measured the pulse. Still fine, if a bit fast, like his respiration. Skin a bit clammy too; so now might be a good time to pause. No good if the man fainted before he could answer any questions.

'Frank Longbottom died,' Moody said in a conversational tone. 'Did you know?'

No answer.

'Only you ran off at about the same time, so I thought you might have missed hearing about that. Or maybe you knew more about it than the rest of us?'

Snape made a peculiar snarling noise in the back of his throat.

'That's not very nice, Snape,' Moody murmured, lifting another piece of damaged flesh with the point of the knife. 'Not after I've worked so hard to heal the damage you've caused. You nearly killed yourself. Was that your intention?'

There was an angry whimper, and the narrow fingers closed hard around the edge of the bed. Moody gave a grim smile, momentarily glancing up – and his magical eye narrowed on the sight of something quite unexpected. A house-elf, bizarrely dressed, was glaring at him through the wall from Harry's room, the boy himself kneeling just behind it. He saw its mouth move in words he couldn't hear, and then suddenly the little creature ran straight towards him, an accusing hand pointing fiercely as it came to a halt on the other side of the bed.

'You will let Severus Snape go right now!' the house-elf shrieked. 'You have no right to touch him! You will free him now!'

From the corner of his normal eye, Moody saw Snape's ghostly hand stretch towards the house-elf. He straightened up, moving the knife carefully away from Snape's back, and gave the house-elf his full attention. There seemed something familiar about it, although he didn't think he had ever seen a house-elf dressed quite like this.

'And who are you, house-elf, to address me thus?' he growled. 'I am a Ministry Auror, engaged upon Ministry business. How dare you challenge me?'

The door burst open at that point, and Harry dashed in with a shout of, 'Dobby, wait!' – and then froze at the scene which greeted him. The room was almost in darkness, only one candle lit on the table which held Moody's potions and equipment, and the light cast by the street lamp. It gave the room an eerie quality, a tableau rendered in shadows of the large wizard holding a bloodied knife and the tiny elf pointing angrily up at him.

'I am no house-elf, One-Eyed Wizard!' Dobby shrilled; but now his voice seemed to be changing, getting deeper as he went on, 'I am a free elf! No more the slave of wizards!'

The last word came out as a growl which made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand up. Dobby abruptly hunched forward, a small shadowy figure suddenly smaller, bat-like ears trembling violently. Then as he curled further forward, Harry noticed the pale woolly jumper begin to stretch, tighten – then split. Dobby stretched out little arms which were suddenly much bigger, as what looked like a bunched fist turned out to be an elbow joint. The hunched figure began to rise on sinewy legs that ended in clawed feet, reaching out with long muscled arms to pluck the knife from Moody's frozen grasp with a knobbly, taloned hand.

'We need fear you no longer, Wizard,' Dobby roared. 'Free Severus Snape NOW!'

Moody did not move. The creature he was now facing was bigger than him and bore almost no resemblance to any elf he had ever clapped eyes on in his life. It occurred to him that there may once have been a compelling reason for the enslavement of the elves; but how it had been managed, if this was what they once had been, he surely did not know.

'Dobby?'

The massive elf turned slowly towards the voice. 'Harry Potter sir!' he rumbled. The once bulbous green eyes burned in deep, slanted sockets, and Harry couldn't help noticing that features which had always seemed almost comically out of scale were now in perfect proportion. The elf looked truly demonic; but Harry felt a deep certainty that inside, Dobby had not changed at all. He took a step forward, gazing up into the huge face.

'Please don't be angry, Dobby,' he said. 'Snape really is all right, look – you can see he's still alive. I'm sure he's not really a prisoner – he's just too badly hurt to move.'

Harry looked towards Moody, who seemed transfixed. 'When Moody's finished healing him, he'll be able to go with you. Won't he?'

Moody said nothing, but Dobby glowered. 'No,' he growled. 'The One-Eyed Wizard has imprisoned Severus Snape with wards bound to those of this house. Dobby can break them easily, but if he does, those on the house will be broken as well. Dobby will not easily risk his friend Harry Potter.'

Moody took a deep breath. 'I will release Snape when I am finished with him,' he said gruffly. 'There is information I require from him. Until then, the wards remain in place.'

'Extra wards, Alastor?' Harry spun round to see Dumbledore and Shacklebolt standing in the doorway. Shacklebolt was staring at Dobby with a fascinated expression, but Dumbledore was glaring at Moody.

'Yes, damn it, Albus!' Moody burst out. 'Did you really think I wouldn't? All your revelations tonight – what difference does it make? I'm not letting him go until I know EVERYTHING!' He slid a sideways glance at Dobby, normal eye glittering. 'And our friend here can't do a thing about it. So if you want me to do what you want – either of you – then you'd better be prepared to give me a bit more of what I want!'

'The One-Eyed Wizard has questions,' Dobby growled, before anyone could speak. 'The One-Eyed Wizard always has questions, but he never listens to the answers. He has never been able to see the truth. But Dobby may have something the One-Eyed Wizard wants, if he will free Severus Snape.'

Moody glared at the elf. 'Go on, then. What can you give me?'

Dobby shambled back towards the window, and cupped his hands together. As they watched, something small and dark, dotted with points of bright light, began to form between them. Dobby drew his hands slowly apart, the object growing as he did so, until suddenly he was holding a large black dish. Moody caught his breath.

It was Snape's Pensieve.

* * *

Thank you all very very much for the reviews! 

HumanTales: I'm really flattered someone linked my story in their archive – please give whoever's responsible my thanks!

Barbara: thanks for the tip about spaces - sadly it didn't work, so I've just put in the line divider instead. Most annoying. Don't know why is so awkward about some types of formatting. Never mind though, sorted now!

Huge hugs and cuddles to everyone else! Wish I had more time to thank you more personally like I used to, but please do know that each review is very gratefully received. Thank you :) 


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 24**

There was a tense silence. Moody stared at the Pensieve with an unreadable look in his normal eye. Harry glanced quickly between the elf and the wizard, then down at Snape. Somehow, he couldn't imagine Snape being happy with this exchange. However, Snape had his eyes closed, apparently oblivious of what was going on.

Dobby held the Pensieve out towards Moody. 'Severus Snape's freedom for Severus Snape's memories.'

Moody stumped around the side of the bed towards the elf. 'He'll need them back again.' He looked up at Dobby with a calculating look in his eye. 'I'll leave the wards where they are until I've –'

'No!' thundered Dobby. 'Remove the wards now! Severus Snape will not leave without his memories!'

'Indeed, he cannot,' Dumbledore interrupted mildly. 'Everything Harry has told us about his experiences of the charm suggest Severus removed far too many to keep his mind intact. Too many, in fact, to allow him to answer any of your questions to your satisfaction, Alastor.

'But I am not happy with this exchange. A man's memories are private and sacred, Alastor. This is a high price.'

Moody glowered. 'It was a high crime, Albus.' He reached out for the Pensieve.

Dobby gazed intently at him, the black dish cupped protectively in his massive hands. 'Know this, One-Eyed Wizard,' he growled. 'Dobby was entrusted with a sacred purpose, and to this end Dobby will give you Severus Snape's memories. But you must honour Dobby's price. Severus Snape is to be freed, unharmed and intact, in exchange for all the answers that lie within his Pensieve. Do you agree?'

Moody returned the elf's gaze, his normal eye narrowing. 'I agree.' Dobby gently handed over the Pensieve – then disapparated silently into thin air. Harry gasped and took a step forward, but Dumbledore placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

'Time for bed, Harry,' he said quietly, as Moody swept some bottles to one side on the table under the window to make room for the Pensieve. He steered the boy out of the room, a grim expression on his face.

* * *

Shacklebolt came to stand next to Moody, who was gazing almost greedily at the silver surface of the Pensieve. Behind them, Snape lay unmoving and forgotten.

'Okay,' Shacklebolt murmured. 'So you think it was worth the price?'

'Don't know yet,' Moody muttered back. 'I'm going to finish his back first, then have a look. Chances are there's nothing in here that will help me, but you never know. Might give me some clue as to why he's in such a mess, if nothing else.'

He turned awkwardly to face Shacklebolt, shuffling himself into one of the chairs. 'You said you needed to speak to me? Might as well make it now.'

Shacklebolt sat down in the other chair. 'I went through some documents from the period of You Know Who's downfall to the attack on the Longbottoms,' he said without preamble. 'I think I may have found something – something that could be relevant now.

'Up until just over a year before the Dark Lord's downfall, the Ministry had been struggling to gain any ground. Aurors getting picked off, ambushes by groups of Death Eaters, etc. Then around March 1981 we start having some real success, thanks to tip-offs about where the Death Eaters were planning to strike next, who they're going after, that kind of thing. So far, so good – success, but nothing notable.

'Then suddenly, about a month after the Potters' deaths, the Ministry start scoring real successes. The arrest of suspected Death Eaters and Dark Lord sympathisers increased by a huge amount. I haven't done the maths, but it looks like almost seventy percent.'

Moody's normal eye narrowed as he realised where Shacklebolt was going with this story.

'In most of those cases, especially the ones which led to convictions – the Auror responsible was Alice Longbottom.'

There was a pause in which Moody said nothing. Shacklebolt let the information sink in, before continuing. 'Everyone thinks the Lestranges went after the Longbottoms for information about what happened to You Know Who. And now I think that is strange – why did they wait all that time? Why not use the Imperious curse on some Ministry employee to find out? They tried that enough times before. Why did they wait six months, and why the Longbottoms?

'Mad-Eye, I don't think they were after information about the Dark Lord. I think they were looking for the spy.'

* * *

Harry sat cross-legged on his bed, leaning against the pillows. Dumbledore sat on the edge at the other end, at a slight angle so they were facing each other.

'I suppose sleep is the last thing you want,' Dumbledore said.

Harry nodded, gazing down at the crumpled bedding and the book half unwrapped in the middle. Dumbledore withdrew it gently from the mess and opened it, flicking through the pages.

'I realise this is not your favourite subject,' he continued softly, 'but I cannot stress enough the need to learn. And you may find it easier now than you did before.' He held out the book, and Harry found himself looking at the title clearly for the first time. It said, "The Theory and Practice of Occlumency. Redacted by A.P.W.B. Dumbledore."

'Okay,' Harry muttered, not wanting to reject a book written by Dumbledore. 'But I can't see the point now. Voldemort got scared off being in my head, didn't he?' Snape's words on that subject seemed unreal, now he was out of that peculiar dream world.

Dumbledore smiled gently. 'Learning to control one's emotions can never be pointless, Harry. Please try.'

* * *

Moody sat in silence, digesting Shacklebolt's theory and measuring it against his memories of fourteen years ago.

It made a lot of sense. Why had he never considered that possibility before?

Because he hadn't known about the spy.

The sudden increase in arrests hadn't seemed extraordinary. Voldemort, the very devil incarnate, had been inexplicably defeated and his followers thrown into disarray. People subjugated by the Imperious curse had been released, and the information they had been able to give had been instrumental in many arrests. Surely the correlation with Alice's return to work was pure coincidence?

Shacklebolt shook his head. 'On the surface, yes, but when you go deeper into the reports, Alice's name crops up a lot. And it's strange – she was away from work for almost four months before her baby was born, and then didn't come back until two months after the Potters were killed. She was gone for over a year, she was way out of the loop – then suddenly she's back and she's getting all the bad guys? What did she know that the rest of you didn't?'

'Now just a minute,' Moody frowned. 'She wasn't as isolated as that. Frank wasn't happy with her being on active service after Neville was born, so she took an admin transfer so she could work from home. She was too good to lose – it was the only way I could keep her.'

Shacklebolt's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. 'Frank wasn't happy so she gave up her job? But you didn't want her to go?'

Moody shrugged. 'She didn't want to go either. But it was very dangerous, and she had a baby to think about. So she gave in. And she was still doing important work, for the Ministry and the Order.'

'And then, after the Potters were killed, she went back? How did Frank feel about that?'

Moody pursed thin lips. 'Well I had the impression that they had argued about it. But I didn't pry into the personal lives of my staff, and I … ' Moody's voice faltered as his memories filtered through Shacklebolt's theory. '… I thought the danger had passed. Alice was an excellent Auror, and so was Frank. I didn't realise…' He paused, anger and grief glimmering in his normal eye.

'I didn't know about the spy,' he said in a harsh whisper.

_

* * *

_

_At first, you may find it difficult to clear your mind of emotion. Indeed, the more you try, the more difficult it will seem, but this is an illusion. Rather, one becomes aware of how busy one's mind is, for the human mind constantly teems with thought…_

Harry blinked rapidly, and pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose with a finger. He had never felt less engaged by any subject, and focusing on the page for more than a paragraph at a time was hard work. He flicked the pages idly, hoping something might seize his interest, and found himself skimming a paragraph about breathing exercises and meditation.

The word 'redacted' was unfamiliar, but gave him the impression that Dumbledore was not the actual author. He wondered why neither Dumbledore nor Snape had suggested he read this six months earlier, and a familiar darkness stirred in the pit of his stomach. With a scowl he threw the book aside, screwing his eyes shut.

'Harry Potter sir?'

Harry jumped. At the end of his bed was Dobby, normal sized and wearing fresh clothes. Next to him was a very large parcel, badly wrapped.

'What happened to you?' Harry asked, moving closer. 'Your transformation earlier – is that what elves are meant to look like?'

Dobby looked slightly anxious. 'Dobby doesn't know, sir. Dobby was very angry and it just happened. Severus Snape once told Dobby that elves were once much different, when they were free, sir, but Dobby didn't know what he meant, until today, sir.'

Harry stared at the anxious elf for a moment; then he grinned. 'Whatever happened, it was fantastic!' he said. Dobby smiled shyly.

'Dobby has brought you something as well, Harry Potter sir.' He pointed to the parcel.

Harry unwrapped it. Inside was a huge book, even larger, older and mustier than Dumbledore's book on Occlumency, and a heavy, metal object, wrapped in a square of red silk.

There were no titles embossed on the plain leather cover, and when he pulled it open to a random page, he was intrigued to find that it was hand-written in a foreign language. He gazed at it in puzzlement, then picked up the silk-wrapped object. The cloth fell away to reveal what looked like a hand mirror made from a long black string of woven metal, bent into an oval shape with the ends wound together into a handle. But there was no glass. Harry held it up, turning it, running his fingers over the wrought metal.

'What is it?' he murmured.

'Hold it in front of the book,' Dobby said.

Harry did so. At once the unfamiliar letters formed themselves into perfect English within the black frame.

* * *

Hours after Shacklebolt had left, Moody was working in grim methodical silence. He had taken only a cursory glance through his books, but his concentration had narrowed to a point of extreme focus. Beneath his wand, damaged nerves and blood vessels, missing flesh and muscle, flourished and grew at a rate that belied the old man's fading powers. Snape was silent, but Moody no longer cared if his patient had passed out or not. Absorbed by his thoughts to a state of near trance, he worked with mechanical precision as his deeper mind seethed with memories.

When had they started winning in the war against Voldemort? The Order had suddenly started getting some acute information, stuff that could only had come from the inner circle of Voldemort's court. Moody pondered it, letting his mind wander back to that time as he gently wound out a new tendon to secure fresh muscle fibre to a bone. There were, as he recalled, two versions of the Prophecy given to the Order. The full version Dumbledore had entrusted to only a handful of people: Moody, the Longbottoms and the Potters. To everyone else, there was an edited version – the part of the Prophecy Dumbledore suspected Voldemort knew, overheard in Aberforth's pub. And this, Dumbledore had confided to the select few, was because a new source had revealed that the Order had been betrayed. Someone in their ranks was reporting to Voldemort.

A slight flick of the wand, and the new mass of muscle suddenly turned from grey to pink, infused with a rush of blood. Moody gently stroked it, healing away tiny bruises caused by the process of re-creation.

A new source. Moody had never asked, because there was too much at stake to risk losing such a valuable asset. If sometimes this person's information had come to him via Frank or Alice, he had never given it another thought. Ultimately, it was coming from Dumbledore, who would be careful what he let them use.

Now this perception of the past had been slanted by the revelation that the spy had communicated directly with the Longbottoms. Dumbledore had allowed Frank to disseminate this incredibly sensitive information, without reference to anyone but his wife, and …

… they had overused it. Lily, who had been a close friend of Alice's since Hogwarts, had been murdered. And Alice in her grief had obviously become careless with the information she was receiving. She had gone after the Death Eaters, armed with crucial information that could only have come from someone in the very centre of their organisation, with a vengeance so desperate it had led them straight to her.

Moody put his wand down. His hands were shaking violently with grief and anger. If only Alice and Frank had come to him! WHY had Dumbledore made them exclude him? All his years and years of experience of dealing with this kind of filth equipped him to protect them from precisely this kind of folly, this all too human folly.

He buried his face in his hands. So many Aurors, broken by the horrors they had seen, had become almost as bad as those they hunted. He knew of many, decent people, who had gone after the villains with murder in their hearts, and come back with dead bodies instead of prisoners. And a terrible void where their humanity once had been.

Moody had worked so hard to keep himself from ever falling to that frailty, and it had been so hard. But he had done it. The idealist who had wanted to be a Healer had held fast to the belief that all life, however seemingly evil, was sacred.

Moody drew a deep breath, fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief, blew his nose, pulled himself together. In front of him lay the spy, the space between his shoulder blades an ugly mass of exposed, skinless flesh. Skin was easy. Moody picked up his wand, concentrated, and waved it over the wound. Within seconds, Snape's back was healed as if it had never been injured.

Moody began mashing herbs for a fresh infusion of the _vitalis_ potion that was replenishing Snape's lost blood and keeping his body alive. He would pour another dose into the little rat, and then….

And then he would enter the Pensieve.

* * *

Thank you all for the reviews! Hope you enjoyed the latest chapter - my longest yet. It's going to be a couple of weeks before I update again though - very busy start to the year! Glad Dobby was appreciated - I loved writing the bit where he changes! I've been wondering since GoF whether there might be something like that waiting for us in books 6 & 7 - if the elves are powerful but subjugated, what would they be like truly liberated?

So, huge thanks and fluffy hugs to **Knitekatz**, **Kyer**, **Silverthreads**, **duj**, **Hermione the Slayer**, **BekaJWP** - as well as:

**Oya** - no, Moody's too good to resort to torture. But possibly too human to pass up a chance to make Snape uncomfortable?  
**TA Salmalin** - you'll have to wait an see!  
**Lilith11** - actually I've never seen Gremlins, although I've heard a lot about it! Is that what Dobby looks like?  
**Barbara Kennedy** - yeah, I think it's trying to decide how they're going to handle formatting. BTW, I had a look at Potions and Snitches - you're in there too!  
**Persephone Lupin** - you're on Potions & Snitches as well! Check it out here: Sadly for me, the link to my author page is wrong - but there doesn't seem to be a way of contacting the webmistress about changing it. Ah well.  
**Romulus** - you need to be a member of and list me among your favourite authors or favourite stories to get email alerts. But because I'm greedy for reviews, I shall be sure to email you!  
**Crockywock** - I believe you've mentioned it, lovely person! hugs  
**Beornthryth** - thanks for the observation on Moody. I love that character, but it's difficult to really know what's in character and what isn't. In the books, what we get most of is the imposter Moody - and Crouch Jnr may have made mistakes in his impersonation. I suspect that he did something which gave himself away slightly, in the scene where he and Snape meet on the stairs in GoF. Maybe Snape didn't know it was really Crouch, but I think he realised that it wasn't really Moody, or that Moody had changed in some significant way.  
**x** - I've reread your comment and my chapter 1 several times, and I can't see any way you might construe what I've written as the suggestion that the Longbottoms' torture happened before Voldemort's fall. As for Snape being off the hook - that would depend on who knew he was spying. The impression I get is that nobody did - after all, the Order had just worked out that they were compromised by someone spying for Voldemort - if they had someone doing the same to him, they weren't about to make it public, where they? But that Karkaroff's trial, and that of the Lestranges, happened after all of it, is in no doubt from book 4.


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 25**

_Only when consumed by passion is the human mind ever truly void. While lesser emotions will cloud the intellect, grand states of arousal will empty it. True terror will wipe it blank, while true oblivion is found only at the point of sexual climax –_

Harry blinked, and looked up at Dobby in amazement.

'Severus Snape said you needed this book. He said there was one at Hogwarts, but it was too incomplete,' said Dobby.

So this book belonged to Snape, did it? It was certainly more colourful than Dumbledore's version. Harry gave a wry smile. 'I'll bet,' he said. He flicked a few pages and tried the glassless mirror again.

_Find a point in space and focus your self upon it. This is your anchor in time and space, the point to which you will return. Focus until nothing is real to you but that point; and then matter will recede. Now visualise the place where you intend to go, and there you will be._

A movement in his peripheral vision made him look up. Dobby had jumped down from the bed and was once more peering through the wall. Harry was struck by a sudden thought.

'Dobby? Why do you always call Moody the One-Eyed Wizard?' Harry could see why someone might call him that now, but he remembered how Moody had looked in Dumbledore's memory of Karkaroff's trial. He might have lost part of his nose by then, but he still had two perfectly normal brown eyes.

Dobby looked back at him over his shoulder, an uncharacteristically cold expression on his little face. 'Dobby calls the Wizard the "One-Eyed" because he watches the world with only one eye and sees only half of what is there.'

* * *

Moody sat in the dark silence, wand in hand, and considered carefully what he was about to do.

Invading someone's memories was no trivial undertaking, and despite his determination earlier, he had to admit a certain trepidation. He had only done this once before, and he remembered well that once inside, there were only two ways out. The first was if the owner of the memories came and removed you. The other was to go through every memory until there were none left, at which point the Pensieve released you naturally.

There were a lot of memories in here, apparently. What would a Death Eater (reformed or otherwise) consider a recollection so distressing that he would remove it before going to face a Dementor?

Moody took a last look at his patient. Snape lay in a restless, drug-induced sleep, his stump freshly cleaned and bandaged. Now that he was free of the coma, Moody had augmented the _vitalis_ potion with a liberal quantity of tranquillising herbs to keep him from waking up. As well as to keep the nightmares away.

Moody frowned, and turned back to the Pensieve. He might have argued to Dumbledore that what he was about to do would be in Snape's best interests, if he had cared enough to argue.

No matter. He took a deep breath, clearing his mind and focusing on his motives for what he was about to do – and lowered the tip of his wand to the surface of the Pensieve.

At first it was like standing in a dry, grey fog. Moody glance around, wondering if he should have focused a bit more on what he specifically wanted to know. Then he thought he heard a voice.

'That is very impressive. I knew you were very talented. But this is only half the spell. Can you turn them back? Or is that too difficult?'

Moody moved towards the sound, and the fog cleared to reveal two figures standing on a small patch of stone floor. The first was tall, with a long silver beard and an apparently kindly expression as he gazed down at the second, a small dark haired boy with his back to Moody. But the bright, familiar blue eyes held a glint of ice, and as Moody drew nearer, moving around so he could see them both clearly, he could see the smile on the boy's face fade abruptly.

'Yes, ov courrrrrse I can. I vouldn't leave them like that, that vould be dangerous.'

The boy waved a disproportionately large hand in a complicated signal over his head, and the scene expanded to reveal a large classroom. For a fleeting moment, it was a silent, empty space. Then, even as Moody realised what he was looking at, the room was suddenly full of children at their desks, all looking around with exclamations of puzzlement as they realised that Professor McGonagall had been replaced by Albus Dumbledore in what seemed to them the blink of an eye.

Dumbledore turned his attention away from the boy and addressed the class. 'Ladies and gentlemen! I'm sure you will be pleased to know that today, classes will finish early. You have an extra ten minutes for tea! I would hurry along to the Great Hall if I were you, before all the nicest things have been eaten!'

In a babble of happy chatter, the class emptied. Dumbledore put his hand on the boy's shoulder before he could follow them, however. 'Not you, Mr Snape,' he said in a very different tone of voice. 'You will come with me, please.'

Snape, now looking quite worried, reached for his bag. Before he could grasp it, however, he found himself being swept out of the room by the headmaster, who had taken a tighter hold than Moody had realised at first. The boy stumbled, almost falling over, and Dumbledore hauled him upright by his robe. Moody frowned as he followed them out.

The walk from the Transfiguration classroom to Dumbledore's office was ellipsed by another moment of grey fog, for only a moment later they were standing in front of his ornate desk.

Moody took a moment to study eleven-year-old Snape. The boy seemed rather small for his age, but he had large hands, hinting at the height he would attain in adulthood. The hooked nose, however, looked as if it had already reached its adult size; strangely, it was the only feature that really identified this boy as the man Moody had known. Altogether, he was strongly reminded of a gawky fledgling crow.

The icy self-possession was certainly several years away. Snape looked terrified as he stood there in the headmaster's office, and Moody wondered at the particularly severe expression on Albus' face. But the more likely reason for Snape's terror was standing at the fireplace, one long-fingered hand resting on the mantelpiece.

'Albus. You have my absolute assurance that this will never happen again.'

The man spoke in a smooth baritone, with only a hint of the accent which lay so heavily in his son's voice. Anzori… Snape? Moody studied him carefully as he moved to stand behind Severus.

The resemblance between father and son was unmistakable – certainly the hooked nose must be a family trait. But Moody was fascinated by how different Anzori was from the adult Severus. Slightly shorter but broad shouldered and powerfully built, there was nothing scrawny or underfed about this man. A powerful, hawkish face, with high cheekbones and olive skin, framed by long, straight white hair. The eyes in their deep sockets were slightly slanted, unlike Severus'; but the real difference lay in the expression. Severus' eyes were cold, dispassionate and distant, even when he was angry. Anzori Snape's eyes seemed to burn with an intense vitality.

Dumbledore sighed, glancing down at the papers on his desk. Moody was immediately fascinated. He had never seen Dumbledore fail to meet anyone's gaze before.

'I shall have to consider what is best for the school, Anzori,' Dumbledore replied. 'As I am sure you are aware, the possible consequences of Severus' actions today are frightful.'

'My son was misguided,' Anzori replied. 'He is young and eager to do well. He has had little experience of being with other children; he needs time to adjust. I do not condone at all what he has done today, but I ask your forbearance on the grounds that he never intended harm upon anyone. I shall take him home for a few days and you may consider your ultimate course. I only ask that you take time over the decision, whatever you choose to do.'

Dumbledore was silent, still gazing at his desk. Then he raised his head to look Severus in the eye. 'I shall do as your father asks, Severus. However, you must understand that what you have done today would justify your expulsion from this school, and I must consider carefully if Hogwarts can still accommodate you. Do you understand?'

Severus, white-faced, nodded jerkily.

'Very well, then,' Dumbledore replied. 'I shall see you both next week, when I will have made my decision.'

Moody followed the Snapes down the spiral staircase and out of the castle. Anzori swept up the drive to the gates with a brisk stride, and Severus had to run to keep up. The moment the gates shut behind them, Anzori rounded on his son.

'What the hell did you think you were doing?' he snarled. The formal tone and the accent both seemed to have disappeared.

'Nothing!' Severus cried; and he too seemed suddenly fluent. 'Sirius Black said I was no good at magic because I wouldn't kill a mouse and I said he was cruel and that he didn't know what real magic was and so I showed them… I showed… I…' His voice trailed off in the face of his father's volcanic glare.

'You… stupid… little… boy!' Anzori hissed. He grabbed his son's arms and shook him hard. 'Have you any idea what you have done?'

Severus stared at his father with a frozen look of shock, then burst into tears. Anzori pulled him close – and in the next moment, the grounds of Hogwarts had disappeared. Moody looked around. They were now standing in a large bedroom with stone walls and tall windows with glass so clear it seemed invisible. A sizeable bed stood against one wall, draped in rich, warm-looking coverings, with a few cuddly toys propped against the pillows. No prizes for guessing whose room this was; but Moody felt slightly surprised at the lack of more masculine toys. He turned his attention back to the Snapes.

Anzori released Severus and stood back, gazing down at the sobbing child with a burning look of anger.

'I am deeply disappointed in you,' Anzori said quietly, after a long pause. Severus fumbled for a handkerchief, choking into it as he struggled for control of himself. 'I have allowed you to learn as much as you liked, and then, because you were lonely, I consented against my better judgement to allow you to attend school. And this is how you repay my indulgence and trust?'

He scowled down at Severus, who gazed back out of anguished eyes. 'As if the harm you could have done with that spell wasn't enough! Did it ever occur to you that you have no idea who anyone is in that school? How do you know that one of those children isn't the child of one who would harm us? Even now, my enemies may have discerned the power you have squandered with your pathetic showing off! You could have brought us both into terrible danger!'

Moody felt himself starting to get angry. Why on earth did he teach the kid such a spell if the consequences of using it were so dire?

'Daddy,' Severus said in a trembling voice. 'I'm sorry! I didn't know it would be bad! I didn't mean to do anything wrong, and I would never hurt anyone! Sirius Black and James Potter were making fun of my accent, and –'

'You've only yourself to blame,' snapped Anzori. 'If you'd practiced your English more at home before you went to school, no one would have any cause to tease you about your dreadful accent. But we shall start work on that immediately, if the ridicule of children bothers you so much. From tomorrow, you and I shall speak nothing but English to each other. For the Christmas recess, I shall arrange lessons to correct your pronunciation.'

Tears welled up again as Anzori turned away. 'But my English isn't very good,' Severus whimpered.

'Then it will improve,' his father growled, sitting down on the bed. 'Come here.'

Severus gave his father a blank look. Anzori glared. 'I said, _come here_.'

Moody sighed, guessing what was coming next. He went over to one of the windows and concentrated on the beautiful view. Behind him, Severus screamed and cried as his father beat him.

* * *

Most of Severus' memories seemed to be of being beaten by his father. Moody passed through them with growing sense of disapprobation. It wasn't that he disapproved of strong parenting; it was that in all cases the discipline seemed wildly excessive. Most of the time, the boy looked genuinely surprised that what he had done had aroused such wrath, and Moody wondered if he was looking at some significant change in Severus' relationship with his father. The look of misery and bewilderment in the boy's eyes was beginning to gnaw at him.

The memories appeared to follow a time sequence, the earliest being Severus' dramatic display of power at school. After a while, Moody realised that the subtle changes in accent, tone and rhythm occurred whenever the Snapes spoke English: fluency indicated their own tongue, formal phrasing indicated true English. So why was he hearing everything in English? He could only suppose it was because Severus understood both languages equally well; but it still seemed odd.

Something else that puzzled him slightly was the absence of any more scenes from school, given what he knew of the antithesis between Severus and James and Sirius. So far, every recollection appeared to revolve entirely around Snape senior. Then again, Moody mused as he watched Anzori fly into another rage, sometimes people did store their recollections like that. Here are all the times I went to the beach, or here are all the times I had to spend with my mother-in-law. Here are all the times my father thrashed me for something trivial, and made me feel like scum.

The grey fog parted on a scene in which Severus appeared to be fifteen or sixteen. Up until now, everything had taken place in that stone house with its big, empty windows, in either his bedroom, or a library, of which there had been several. Here, however, Severus was sitting alone on the low stone wall of a church yard, a long, winding stone stair leading down to a seaside town from which came the dim light of street lamps. It was late at night, very dark, yet the sky was clear and fine. Severus was staring intently up at the stars, his face expressionless. Moody followed the line of his gaze, trying to work out what he was looking at. He had just identified Polaris when a sharp voice made them both jump.

'Severus! What are you doing out here?'

Severus turned slowly towards his father's voice, the faint light shining in his eyes as the long, greasy dark hair fell across his face. Already he was acquiring that cold, distant look. 'I was searching for the eye of God, Father,' he replied.

'Facetious idiot,' Moody muttered to himself. 'You know what he'll do to you – why the hell are you provoking him?'

However, just for once Anzori did not look provoked. He gazed steadily at his son, and for a long moment they regarded each other in silence. Then a small, satisfied smile appeared on Anzori's face. 'You are getting very, very good at that, Severus. I am proud of your achievement. Your mind is your most precious possession. Never allow it to be compromised.'

Severus gave his father a small, gratified smile, and Anzori sat down next to him. Now he had adjusted to the poor light, Moody was interested to see that both of the Snapes were wearing muggle clothing. Severus was wearing jeans and plimsolls, a dark t-shirt and a black leather jacket; his father was dressed like a business man, the long white hair drawn back into a ponytail and carefully hidden down the back of his jacket.

'Nevertheless,' Anzori continued in his slightly accented English. 'You could be doing this from your bedroom at home. Why have you chosen to disobey me and come here?'

Severus' nostrils flared almost imperceptibly, the only indication of his fear. 'I haven't disobeyed you, Father,' he replied in a slightly higher voice. 'You said I could go out, you said I could go-'

'On condition you came straight home afterwards. Instead, it has been over an hour'. Anzori cut him off in a mild voice, but Moody could see the temper already starting to rise. 'I believe I have also mentioned the foolishness of wandering about after dark. And yet, here you are, almost two hundred metres from where you said you would be.'

Severus fell silent, biting his lip.

'I brought the car,' his father continued coldly, getting up. 'We shall continue this discussion at home.'

Anzori drove in silence, Severus brooding into space next to him. Moody was vaguely interested to see that the memory had somehow planted him in the back of the car while giving him no sense of actually riding in it; it was as if he was floating somewhere in the background. He spent the short, silent journey puzzling over why everything had changed so much, from a fairly standard, if slightly exotic, wizarding background, to this entirely muggle scenario. Nothing he had seen up to now had suggested that Anzori Snape was the kind of wizard who would want – or need – to interact with the muggle world in such a fundamental manner.

The car stopped, and Anzori got out, slamming the door behind him. Severus took a shaky breath and fumbled with the seatbelt, just managing the release as the door beside him was wrenched open. Moody gazed into the old man's blazing eyes as Severus slid out of the passenger seat as fast as he could. From mild disapproval to towering rage in … five minutes? Hard to tell inside a twenty year old memory, but Moody had an idea that distance from where they had begun to wherever they were now was as short as it had seemed.

Moody took a glance around as the car dissolved around him. He was standing on a recessed area of tarmac taken from the front lawn of a small, nineteen-thirties semi-detached house. It overlooked a large lake which lay just beyond the winding road, and Moody felt suddenly certain that they were now in England. He moved after the Snapes, who had gone round the back of the house. Here, beyond the possible sight of any muggle, Anzori dispensed with his unlikely image and opened the back door with a snap of his fingers. He shoved Severus inside with a low snarl and slammed the door behind them.

They were standing in a narrow kitchen: clean, functional and tidy. A hall led off towards the front door, with a staircase leading upstairs on the left, and a door leading into a small sitting room on the right. It looked more like a rented holiday house than a home; and then, something which had been niggling Moody for a while finally clicked. There was absolutely no sign of anything feminine. Where was Severus' mother?

'You are disgusting,' Anzori growled; and Moody's attention snapped back to the scene currently in motion. 'Look at you! You look as if you haven't bathed for a month! You have twenty minutes to scrape off the filth. Then I expect to find you waiting for me looking presentable!'

Severus turned and ran up the stairs. Anzori watched him go with a look of fury, then slammed his fist down on the work surface. Moody frowned, and went after Severus.

Upstairs was a short corridor with a large window overlooking the lake at one end, and at the other, a narrow staircase leading to the attic. Following the sound of someone taking a shower, Moody climbed it.

The entire top floor had been converted into a bedroom, with a fanlight in one sloping roof, and a huge dormer window in the other. Moody admired the rather fine telescope which stood there, facing a magnificent view of the sky. He momentarily wondered why Severus had preferred the church to this, when up here he could have seen so much more and also avoided his father's wrath.

The shower stopped, and Moody turned. Against the middle of one wall stood a large bed facing out into the room, but against the other, next to the stairwell, some fitted wardrobes and a small bathroom had been constructed. Severus emerged, naked and dripping, vigorously towelling his long black hair. Moody was surprised. The boy was slender but surprisingly athletic, possessing a fine skeletal structure laced with sinewy muscle. A far cry from the dying wreck he worked so hard to save. It wouldn't have surprised him to have seen evidence of starvation this far back, given the abusive relationship Severus seemed to have with his father. It certainly didn't take much Healer training to identify the self-hatred responsible for inflicting such damage. But Moody had expected it to be visible now. Instead, he was looking at someone at the peak of physical health and well being, well nourished and well looked after.

Severus moved over to the bed, shaking his hair out of his face., and rubbing himself dry with clumsy haste. He struggled into a nightshirt, then sat down on the end of his bed and gazed at the stairwell with an apprehensive expression.

Moody sighed, studying him. 'You've only yourself to blame with this one, lad,' he murmured. 'Why on earth did you do something like this when you knew how he'd react?'

Then something else suddenly occurred to Moody. There was a sizeable gap between this memory and the last. Now he was looking more closely, he could see that Severus seemed to have grown into his hands and nose; they no longer looked out of scale. His hair was much longer than it had been in the earlier scenes, more like it had been when Moody had first met him at Malfoy Manor. How old would that make him? Eighteen?

A shadow fell across them, and Severus' face became a mask. Anzori rose from the stairwell, dark and angry; but, Moody found himself relieved to see, no longer on the verge of uncontrollable temper. He had changed out of his muggle business suit, and was wearing long dark robes which billowed slightly as he strode across the room, hands clasped behind his back. He came to stand in front of his nervous son, and they stared at each other in silence for a moment or two.

'Father, I'm sorry', Severus began. 'I only went there to test an idea I had, and I forgot how long –'

Anzori's eyes narrowed. 'You were doing magic?'

'No! No, of course I wasn't! I just wanted to check something, and that was the best place, and –'

Severus' voice died as his father drew a thin cane from behind his back. There was a short silence. Then to Moody's surprise, anger flared in Severus' face, and he jumped to his feet so he was looking Anzori straight in the eye.

'NO! That's not fair, there's no need for that!'

'Isn't there?' Anzori stormed back. 'You know perfectly well why I don't want you wandering about by yourself; you know why we spend all our time here hiding, and then you go off by yourself, doing precisely what I've always told you not to do! If this is the only way to get these simple facts through your empty little head, then so be it! Turn around and kneel across the bed!'

Severus seemed momentarily suffused with emotion, rage and humiliation blazing in his eyes as he struggled to answer his father back. Finally he burst out with, 'I haven't done anything wrong! You just do this because you like inflicting pain, you don't care about me, you're just a bully who hates me –'

And Anzori slapped him so hard he fell back onto the bed, his head twisted to one side, blood trickling from his mouth. Moody winced.

'You are a stupid, ungrateful, disobedient little fool,' Anzori said in a terrible whisper. 'I have taught you everything I can think of, given you knowledge and wisdom that other people have killed for, and you risk it all on a selfish whim! The muggle world is full of evil! Have you forgotten the murders of those who came before you, or do you care so little for the responsibility with which you have been privileged –'

'I don't want it,' Severus replied thickly, struggling into a sitting position. 'My blood is all you want, why don't you just drain it all and give it to him?' He wiped away the blood and his voice gained strength. 'Then you could go back to your mausoleum and spend the rest of your precious life with YOUR FAMILY and I could just die! I wish I was dead! I hate you!'

Anzori's face went blank. Then he reached out with hooked fingers and clawed Severus towards him, long fingers digging into the nightshirt and then into the boy's arms as he pulled him close. He tried to speak, but for a moment nothing came out but heavy gasps as he struggled to rein in his fury. Severus struggled, but as Moody watched, the boy's energy seemed to evaporate. Now so close their faces were almost touching, Severus dissolved into a silent howl of grief, sinking his head onto his father's shoulder as the old man shook with rage.

'Why do you hate me?' Severus choked. 'I try so hard to do everything you want, and it's never enough!'

Anzori's face twisted, and he flung his weeping son back onto the bed with an expression of revulsion that left Moody feeling sick.

'Why do I hate you?' he whispered, his eyes wild. 'Because you are all that's left, and you are not fit for the purpose that awaits you. You are a weak, stupid child who resists my every effort to educate, to advance.

'But you _will_ learn, and you _will_ do your duty. You are selfish and spoiled, and you have never known what it is to see those you have loved ripped apart and destroyed. I cannot frighten you with the thought of the suffering you will bring to others if you break the Covenant. But know this, Severus Mikhail: if you rebel or if you fail, yours is the first soul the demon will devour when it returns to our world. You have no choice but to do exactly as I have taught you, every seven years after I die. And I shall do whatever it takes to see that you survive to do it.'

Severus stared at his father in wordless shock, blank faced and dry eyed. Such a question from teenage lips was never meant to evoke such an answer. The wide dark eyes looked as if something inside had shut down forever.

In the silence, Anzori reached over and grabbed Severus by his ankles, dragging him roughly down the bed, rolling him over onto his stomach at its end. Moody watched, stunned with disbelief as the old wizard raised the cane with a savage look of anger. Severus never made a sound.

* * *

It was six o'clock in the morning, and Remus Lupin suddenly found himself wide awake. He blinked at the ceiling, momentarily unable to recall where he was or why he was there. Then he remembered that Mad-Eye had succeeded in saving Severus' life, and relief rolled through him in a warm wave of joy.

He sat up, alert and ravenous. Sliding out of bed, he pulled on a robe and softly padded downstairs to the empty kitchen. The house was silent, and, as he rummaged through the pantry for eggs and bacon, he wondered how many people had stayed overnight.

A slight, unidentifiable sound caught his attention as he hunted for a frying pan He smiled, thinking perhaps Tonks had come to join him, and went to the kitchen door to meet her. The smile faded when he saw there was no one there. But he knew he had heard something.

Wary now, Lupin concentrated, reaching out with his mind as well as his hearing. Nothing. Wand out, he silently moved up the stairs, pressing into the fading shadows as he reached the hall. It was empty.

Shaking his head, Lupin turned to go back to the kitchen and his much-anticipated fry-up. He had taken only two steps when a sound behind him made him spin round, wand raised.

He froze in surprise. Harry was standing right in front of him.

* * *

I'm back! And, incredibly, I'm almost finished. Really wish I hadn't lost eight months last year; it really is rather tragic to think that this silly little fanfic has taken me longer to write than it took JKR to finish the real book 6! And I have to say, it's been very hard work, knowing that HP & the HBP is almost with us, since I began writing TOSOTD because I couldn't stand the wait! Ah well... nearly there now.

As ever, huge and fulsome gratitudes to all the kind and lovely people who've kept me going with their reviews. There were lots of things I wanted to say to you all, but I haven't a lot of time; please know, however, that every review has meant the world to me. Just two things for now:

Duj: There wouldn't be any sign in canon if someone suspected fake Moody, because it's all from Harry's point of view - he doesn't know enough to have any suspicions. And if Snape was subtle enough, there's no reason for fake Moody to know he was suspected. It wouldn't surprise me at all to find that Snape had his suspicions, especially after that scene on the staircase, when Moody and Snape have their confrontation and Moody makes Snape's Dark Mark burn. I don't see how anyone but another Death Eater could have done that, and it's the sort of thing that would give the imposter away to the only person who might suss him out. Meanwhile, Dumbledore might reasonably write Snape's suspicions off as another example of his obsessiveness. It seems to me, in several ways, that Snape and the real Moody actually have quite a lot in common! As for the principled healer bit- that's a contradiction which I think is already there. We're told that Moody is one of the better Aurors, that he always brings people in alive where possible. And yet nobody seems to question him transforming a student into a ferret and bouncing him off a stone floor? A good guy with rough edges is how I see him; and secretly more complex than might be at first obvious.

Qem: Actually I put the bit about Gryffindor Snape in before JKR confirmed he was a Slyth at school. It seemed a strong possibility at the time, and I still think the evidence is good. Makes me wish I'd included dates on the chapters of when I actually posted them though! I identified Aberforth as the barkeep of the Hog's Head before she confirmed it. Silly, but it's nice to be correct in even obvious predictions - and it would have given a semblance of logic to the ones proved false.


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 26**

For a moment, Harry and Lupin just stared at each other. Then Lupin lowered his wand.

'Harry?' he said carefully. Harry blinked at him, and for a moment, Lupin had the impression that the boy was as surprised as he was. 'I didn't know you could Apparate, Harry. You know you're not allowed to until you're seventeen, don't you? And that you need to pass a test and get a licence first. And that it falls under the category of underage magic if you do it during the holidays?'

Harry shook his head, as if to clear it, frowning around the hall. 'I didn't Apparate,' he replied. 'I read about something and thought I'd try it.'

He and Lupin gazed at each other in thoughtful silence for a while. 'Well, I was about to have breakfast,' said Lupin at last. 'Why don't you join me and tell me all about it?'

* * *

There were no more memories of Anzori Snape. After what he had seen, Moody doubted if the old man's death had seemed like much of a tragedy to Severus. But in context, there was something vaguely disquieting about the absence of any memory of the death of such a significant figure. 

Not that he had time to think about it right now. As he had suspected, the next set of memories were also themed: Severus Snape versus James Potter and Sirius Black. There were fewer gaps in these memories than in the previous set, but they too flowed in a time sequence. Moody passed through them all in an increasingly grim mood. Why on earth had Minerva and Albus allowed such disgraceful behaviour to go on? No wonder the boy had ended up in the bad company he had, when he was continually the victim of such concentrated bullying. There never seemed to be a teacher or a prefect around until Snape started fighting back. So it always looked as though ugly little Severus had started it, while James and Sirius were the innocent ones. And as for that episode by the lake after the OWL exams!

So absorbed was he in the dramas playing out before him that Moody was only dimly aware of his sympathies shifting. He was starting to feel angry at Sirius and James, when previously he had felt… what? He hadn't really known James particularly well; and until a year ago, he had sincerely believed Sirius to have been a treacherous murderer. He frowned, a small self-revelation just out of reach. There wasn't time to think now about how he was dealing with this new information. Best to just concentrate on what he was seeing, and reflect on it later.

No sign of either Lucius Malfoy or Frank Longbottom so far. But then, they were unlikely to have featured in any "bad" memories of school, weren't they? And there came another twinge from the back of Moody's mind, some valuable assessment of what he was seeing trying to make itself clear. He shook his head, and tried to concentrate as the Pensieve continued its parade of misery.

* * *

Down in the kitchen, Harry cooked while Lupin got out plates and cutlery. 

'So this book was a present from Severus, was it?' Lupin asked.

'Yeah. Dobby said it was about Occlumency, and the one at Hogwarts wasn't good enough. There's a lot more than just Occlumency in there though. I didn't think I'd be able to do what I just did, actually.'

He put the plates of food on the table and sat down, frowning. 'I'm not sure what exactly it was that I did do, to be honest.'

'What you did was to move yourself from a bedroom on the second floor to the hall on the ground by magical means. Which is technically illegal,' murmured Lupin. He munched thoughtfully. 'I wouldn't mind seeing that book.'

Harry said nothing, picking at his food. 'Yeah, if you want,' he said, feeling suddenly listless and disinterested. Lupin watched him for a few moments, then said quietly, 'I got a letter from Gringotts bank. Did you get one?'

Harry studied the edge of his plate. 'Yeah.'

'Maybe after we eaten, we could go and see them?' Lupin said tentatively. 'I don't think we should hang it longer than necessary; the longer we leave it the harder it'll be.'

Harry stabbed his fried egg. 'It's Sunday,' he said. 'Won't all the banks be closed on Sunday?'

'Not Gringotts,' Lupin replied. 'The goblins don't pay any attention to the human world. That's how Sirius was able to get to his money and sort out his will without getting into any trouble.'

* * *

The gaps between the memories were bigger now, and the scenes shorter. 

The incident with the Shrieking Shack and his discovery of Remus' lycanthropy had been the longest; although it was less clear to Moody why this had felt so bad. It seemed to be the first time that Dumbledore actually recognised James and Sirius for the rather unpleasant young people they had been back then, instead of treating them like loveable scamps; for once, Severus was being recognised as the blameless victim instead of antagonist.

Whatever the scene meant to Severus, it meant nothing to Moody. He must have spent almost two hours inside the Pensieve by now, and yet had learned nothing of any use.

One last memory, an odd little scene in the school library. Severus was standing between the book stacks, a large book cradled in his arms while his attention was focused on something happening on the other side of the shelf.

Moody caught his breath as he followed the line of Severus' gaze. James and Lily were setting at a desk with Remus and… Alice Longbottom.

He slid around the shelf for a better look. Alice, before she married Frank, Remus, James and Lily before they all left school. Given all the books and parchment lying around, Moody imagined this must have been during the revision period before the NEWTS.

The four young people sat in a friendly little group, chattering in excited whispers, while just out of sight, Severus watched, alone and unwanted. The empty, lost expression in those cold, dark eyes seemed all the more striking when compared with the bright happiness so much in evidence before him.

No matter how close he got, Moody could not make out a word they were saying to each other. He realised that Severus had never managed to do so either; more than that: Severus had no idea what they had been talking about, and his memory had never filled in the blank.

Something sharp twisted in Moody's heart as he watched the faces of Alice and Lily. He suddenly felt sure he knew what was making their pretty faces light up. What else could they be talking about, but their wedding plans? Both girls had married very soon after leaving Hogwarts. Alice seemed to glow, and it suddenly occurred to Moody that she was beautiful. Round faced, but like a china doll, with delicate colouring and big blue eyes that shone with vitality and intelligence. What a waste.

Moody turned away, a lump rising in his throat, catching a last glimpse of Severus' lonely face before the scene faded. The fog thickened briefly, then cleared. It was with some relief that he realised the school memories were over, as the scene opened in a room unlike any he had seen at Hogwarts.

Severus was sitting in a small, candlelit room, at an ornate desk littered with scrolls and loose sheets of parchment. Moody studied it carefully. Old, solid wooden furniture indicated old money and good taste; the absence of dust and the meticulous order in which it was evidently kept suggested servants to maintain it. Moody nodded to himself, a sense of satisfaction building as he worked out where he was. This room in which Severus was poring avidly over his document had to be in Malfoy Manor.

Moody moved closer to Severus, studying his appearance. This was Severus Snape as Moody first knew him. The oily hair gleamed, falling in a glossy sheet to below his shoulders. The flowing robes, a far cry from the plain black school ones, looked as though they were made of silk. Very pretty, Moody thought cynically. Malfoy paid well, but he had forceful ideas about how his staff should look, didn't he? Not that you objected, you vain sod, I remember you poncing down the hall in front of me like you owned the place…

He moved closer, pushing his own memories aside as he tried to see what Severus was reading. The boy might have looked magnificent in that outfit when he stood up straight and squared his narrow shoulders, but he was looking a bit pathetic just at this moment. Hunched up and somehow shrinking into himself, the long-nailed fingers seemed to be holding the parchment too tight, and much closer to his face than was necessary. The thin mouth was compressed into a thin line, but the eyes – blacker than Moody remembered them, even from a few hours ago – held a peculiarly intense look that he couldn't quite decipher. It was clear that the mess of parchment had been created by Severus, as if he had found a box of scrolls and upended the lot without caring what fell where. As he came closer, Moody noticed that Severus' breathing was quick and shallow. Whatever he was reading, it was upsetting him badly.

There was a muffled banging somewhere in the distance. Severus didn't seem to hear it at first. It came again; and slowly he lowered the parchment onto the pile on the desk, his eyes distant and intense. He rose slowly from his chair, then suddenly grabbed the edge of the desk, the little colour in his face draining so swiftly Moody thought he was going to faint. He took some slow, deliberate breaths, steadying himself. Then he straightened and turned, opening the door almost gently.

Moody followed him, and found himself in a room he recognised. Octavian Malfoy's study. If only he had been able to search it as thoroughly as he had wanted! But even back then the Malfoys had been sufficiently able to buy off the Ministry and so tie Moody's hands.

Severus closed the door to the smaller room as if it was made of paper; when it shut, there was nothing to indicate its presence in the oak-panelled room. He stood for a moment gazing at it, expressionless except for those black eyes, intense with terrible emotion; then he turned and strode off to answer the front door. Moody gave the hidden door a last look, then followed him.

Severus seemed almost to be floating as he swept off towards the entrance hall. Moody found himself struggling to keep up. This memory was coloured by more emotion than he had ever encountered in a Pensieve before, and it was getting in the way. Pensieves generally stored only pictures; occasionally, if the memories' owner had been particularly disturbed by the recorded event, the memory itself became very difficult for any third party to endure. Moody had been concerned this might happen, but he was intrigued that it was this memory producing the effect.

The front door was open when Moody reached it, and Severus was standing in the open doorway, robes moving slightly in the breeze. With a small shock, he recognised the voice of the man on the doorstep.

'Good afternoon, Mr. Snape. Is your master in?'

Moody moved next to Severus in time to see the blank expression disappear into a sneer. 'Good afternoon, Mr Moody. No, he is not. If, in the future, you would have the courtesy to let us know when you are coming, I'm sure Mr Malfoy would be only to happy to receive you.'

'More time to prepare for my visit, you mean? Yes, I'm sure he would. But since he's not here, perhaps we could speak to you?'

Moody let his breath out slowly, only now realising he had been holding it. He remembered this little encounter. It was the second time he had ever met Severus Snape, and on this occasion, Frank Longbottom had been with him.

He remembered the door opening, and that young man in his flowing silken robes looking down his hooked nose at him with expression of utter distaste, ignoring Frank completely.

As he remembered, Frank had always disagreed with his assessment of Snape. Moody had thought him a stuck-up little fop; Frank had said he was glad that he looked so well, even if he was wasting his talents on the Malfoys. Moody had believed Snape had been as deep into whatever the Malfoys were into as they were; Frank had believed him an innocent caught up by the wrong crowd. Moody had wondered why; now he knew.

There was a long pause on the doorstep. Standing behind him in the memory, Moody could see the long-nailed hand suddenly tighten on the inner door handle. Outside, Moody the Auror, able-bodied and unscarred, tried in vain to discern the expression in those unreadable dark eyes. He had expected the insolent young wizard to tell him he would have to apply for a warrant if he wished to enter the premises without Mr Malfoy's express permission.

'Of course. Do come in.'

To his surprise, Severus Snape had stood aside, opening the door wide. Moody and Frank came in, and Snape gave the door an almost careless shove. It had slammed, and Moody remembered putting it down to teenage petulance. Now, though, he noted only the change in mood, and wondered what it meant.

Moody and Frank stood in the hall, and Snape slid past them with a sideways glance of contempt.

'I'm in the middle of an assignment for Mr. Malfoy,' he said, sweeping away into the house. 'You will excuse me if I continue with it while you ask your questions.'

And Moody remembered how that had rankled, this jumped-up little nobody in his master's house, graciously allowing them an audience. He followed Frank and his younger self as they trailed in Snape's wake down long corridors and into the study with its little hidden room. And now he wondered how he could have failed to have picked up on how odd this was at the time. Octavian Malfoy would have been furious if he had known Snape had allowed them in there. So why had he done it when he could have spoken to them on the doorstep?

_Because he wanted to you to find that room?_

Back inside the study, Snape turned his back on Moody and Frank and began taking books out of a collection which lined two walls of the room. Moody had seen them once before, on the only previous occasion when he had been able to gain access to search the manor. A very learned collection, but nothing incriminating. Snape took an armful and dumped them on a desk near the window. He sat down, picking up a quill and some parchment, and began writing down the title of the first. Then he looked up at Frank and Moody, still standing there.

'Well? I haven't got all day. What did you want to discuss?'

'When did Mr Malfoy leave?'

Snape rolled his eyes; was it Moody's imagination, or did his gaze linger slightly on the space where the hidden door was located? 'Last Thursday, at 2pm,' he replied in a bored voice. 'Next?'

'When will he be back?' Behind him, Frank was giving the room an apparently idle once-over.

'Not until next Tuesday. I don't know what time.' Snape scribbled the author of the book, then, to Moody's amazement (then and now), threw it to the floor. It landed open and face down, the stiff pages buckling. Snape stared defiantly at Moody, who raised an eyebrow.

'I don't think Mr Malfoy will be happy with you treating his books like that,' he had commented.

Snape's nostrils flared, and the look of distaste became almost hatred. 'My relationship with M-m-mr Malfoy is none of your business.'

Snape had stuttered. ('English isn't his first language, you were making him nervous,' Frank told him later). The only wrinkle in that arrogant self-composure, and he had accepted Frank's explanation of it! Now Moody felt certain it had nothing to do with nervousness and everything to do with what he had been reading in that room. (And what exactly had he meant by that strange answer?)

'And what about your friend Lucius? Is he around? Presumably not, if you feel like abusing his father's property.'

'I don't know where Lucius is, nor when he will be back. I'm not expecting him today.'

'Why not?'

'How should I know? I'm a-a-a-a- servant!'

Frank was frowning just behind his superior's shoulder. Moody hadn't know what to make of that answer at the time, and had decided there was nothing more to be gained by staying. He had concluded, however, that Severus Snape was hiding something important, and he had wanted to go back to the Ministry to revise all he knew of him.

'Okay, well, thank you for your time, Mr Snape. Let Mr Malfoy know we were here, and that we will be back to talk to him at some point.'

Snape rose from the desk, fixing them with a truly icy stare. 'Very well. I will show you out.'

He held the door open and Moody went out. He did not see, as he was seeing now, the slightly desperate look in Snape's eyes as he watched Frank follow Moody out of the front door and into the sunshine.

The door had slammed, and Moody and Frank had Disapparated back to the Ministry.

Behind the front door, Moody watched intently as Snape slammed both fists against it in sudden fury. He panted for a moment, then turned and sped back to the study, spinning on his heel to slam the door shut then turn towards the wall with its hidden door and…

… found Octavian Malfoy calmly straightening the damaged leaves of his book. He looked up with a calm expression as Snape froze.

'Hello Severus. You've been a bit careless, haven't you?'

Snape swallowed. 'I'm sorry, I dropped it…'

The pointed face in its frame of ash blond hair suddenly hardened. 'Don't play games with me. Did you really think I'd go to such lengths to hide my private papers in a secret room, only to leave no way of telling when someone had invaded it?'

Snape closed his eyes. Malfoy walked over to him, a cruel smile lifting the corner of his mouth. 'You've been very naughty,' he said. 'What am I going to do with you?'

Snape bit his lip. 'I owe you my life,' he whispered.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow in surprise. 'Do you?'

Snape nodded, swallowing. 'I realise now, after reading your diary, that if it were not for you, I would never have been born.' He opened his eyes, and gazed up at Malfoy from under his eyelashes, innocent and submissive. 'Ask anything of me, master. I owe you my life.'

Malfoy's smile lengthened, and Moody noted with disgust the suddenly greedy look in the cold blue eyes. He stroked Snape's cheek, then slid his hand round the back of the boy's neck to pull him forward and plant a soft kiss on his forehead. Snape let his head fall onto Malfoy's shoulder, his body limp in the older man's embrace.

'Dear child,' Malfoy breathed. 'Show me your father's house.'

Snape put his arms around Malfoy's waist like a child; the image of room around them blurred and slid out of focus. The colours swam, reformed, and then… Moody recognised the location from the view out of Severus' bedroom window in that very first memory.

Malfoy looked around him. 'Ah yes,' he said. 'I think I remember this beach.'

Snape stepped back from him, doe-eyed and eager. 'This was my favourite place when I was a child,' he said. 'I used to come here to avoid my father.' He looked suddenly downcast.

Malfoy caressed his face again. 'All over now, little one. Daddy's dead and you're safe with me. Now, take me inside. You know what I want to see, don't you?'

Severus gave him a peculiarly sweet smile. It looked out of place on his face, and Moody watched in astonishment as he took Malfoy's hand and led the way up the beach to where the sand gave way to scrubby grass and ended in a solid rock face. He stretched out his free hand and stroked the rock, and suddenly there was a large, ornate wooden door set into the stone.

He released Malfoy's hand and gave him another innocent, childlike look, his hand resting on the door knob. 'Go on, then,' Malfoy said encouragingly, but with the slightest tinge of impatience. Severus smiled, and pushed the door open.

'Is this the way you came in last time?' he asked, as he led the way into a vast carven hall. Malfoy gazed around, seemingly as impressed as Moody privately was, at the beautiful array of stalactites and stalagmites which covered the ceiling and lined the floors. 'No,' he murmured, 'there was an entrance at the top, and we came in that way and-'

He broke off. Severus, almost at the foot of the sweeping staircase, stopped and turned towards him. 'What's wrong, Octavian?' he said. Moody noticed the innocent tone had disappeared.

Malfoy frowned, rubbing at his throat. Then he fell to his knees, gasping. Severus came towards him, black eyes glittering with hatred.

'My father was too late to save any of them,' he said in a deadly whisper. 'But he was determined that it should never happen again. So he cursed the house. Only those of Khvalibog blood may cross the threshold and live.'

Malfoy stared up at Severus in horror. He stretched out towards him, but Severus backed away, and in his eyes Moody saw again the expression he had worn while reading that document. Malfoy gave a pathetic cry, and suddenly his body seemed to shrivel and dry, like a leaf in a flame. The blue eyes rolled in agony before desiccating; and then his whole body turned to sand, collapsing into the path.

Severus watched, blank-eyed and expressionless. The skirts of his robe ruffled suddenly as a wind came from nowhere to sweep Malfoy's remains out of the hall towards the beach, where they were scattered by the sea breeze.

Moody stared after them, stunned. Behind him, Severus sank to the floor of the cave, and began to weep.

* * *

It was just under three hours later, and the summer sun was shining brightly. Harry and Lupin walked in silence from the tube station back to the house in Grimmauld Place. 

Harry felt numb. There seemed something indecent, improper, about the speed with which Sirius' last wishes had been executed. In a small office on the first floor of Gringotts Bank, he and Lupin had learned that they were the only beneficiaries of Sirius' will. Lupin was to receive a sizeable annuity for the rest of his life, while everything else went to Harry.

And that was it. Nothing else to be said. A couple of scrolls detailing everything Harry now owned, plus the keys to the several vaults which contained the Black family fortune. Harry clenched his fist around the keys in his pocket until they sliced his skin, while somewhere deep inside he screamed. Sirius deserved more than this. But this was all there was.

Lupin opened the door, and Harry trailed inside, out of the sunlight and into the gloom of Sirius' house. _It's my house, now,_ he told himself. Lupin shut the door, and Harry felt the dark engulf him.

Snape stood barefoot on the beach, gazing out to sea with agonised eyes. The light was failing, and Moody wondered how long he had stayed here after Octavian Malfoy died. Above him, the first of the stars began to shine in the early night sky. Then Severus looked up, hands clutching at the oily hair; and the sky abruptly changed.

A confusion of sounds and images broke across the space over Moody's head. Anzori Snape snarled his disapproval and disappointment; Lucius Malfoy smiling, handsome, gazed down with a look of deepest love and said, 'The stupid little boy thinks I'm his friend. This is couldn't be easier, Father'. A small girl in a strange headdress held a china-headed doll and smiled; Moody had a fleeting impression of a huge horned figure rearing up behind her before she faded into blood red shadow. Dark figures, cloaked and hooded, fanned out around a central figure who lowered his cowl with pallid fingers and spoke in a high-pitched whisper, 'There are two. We will kill the Aurors' first.'

Severus threw back his head and screamed.

The sky went dark, the scene contracting until there was nothing but Severus kneeling in a patch of sand, choking and gasping for breath. Then suddenly there was a new sound, an anxious little voice.

'Severus Snape! Are you ill? Is there anything Dobby can do, Severus Snape?'

The darkness receded, and Moody saw that they were back in Malfoy Manor, back in Octavian's study. Severus still knelt on the floor, his arms clutched around his stomach. He looked up and around, and the scene expanded to reveal a house-elf gazing at him with huge, bulbous green eyes. Moody gave a quiet snort. So that's why the elf had seemed familiar!

'Dobby?' Severus stared dazedly at the little creature. He closed his eyes and sat back, cross-legged on the floor. 'Dobby… I've killed the master.'

Dobby recoiled, horrified and speechless. Severus looked at him, blank-eyed. 'Dobby. I have to leave. I've suddenly realised… I can't stay here. I can't go on here.' He lurched awkwardly to his feet and over to the wall which concealed the smaller study, half falling against it as he placed his hands on the hidden door. The wall faded, and Severus tumbled inside, the little house-elf scampering after him. Moody frowned. He couldn't work out what it was Severus had done to open it.

Inside, Severus grabbed a wooden box Moody hadn't previously noticed. Into it he shoved every scroll and piece of parchment he could find, jamming the lid closed. Then, with a wave of his wand, he shrank the whole thing to the size of a matchbox. He picked it up with clumsy fingers, then turned to leave.

'Severus Snape…' Dobby spoke in a voice that was suddenly forlorn, not frightened.

Severus turned, and crouched down so he was almost level with the little elf. 'I would free you if I could,' he said, his eyes sad. 'But I cannot. Although you must do as I say because I am employed by the household, only those who own you can free you. I am truly sorry, Dobby.'

Dobby bowed his head. Severus scooped him up with a gentleness that surprised Moody, and carried him out of the room. The door closed, apparently by itself, and Severus set the elf down on the floor.

'I'm going to Alastor Moody,' Severus whispered to him. 'I will give him everything he has been searching for, and the Ministry will come and arrest Lucius. You will no longer need to fear him.'

Dobby looked up at him with a fresh look of terror. 'The One-Eyed Wizard!'

Severus stared back, dull resignation in his eyes. 'Who better? Who else in the Ministry can see the Malfoys for what they are? It doesn't matter any more, Dobby. I no longer have any reason to fear him.'

He got up, slipping the little wooden box into his pocket, and went over to the desk and spent a few minutes rummaging through the drawers selecting various sheets of parchment. He folded them up, stuffed them into another pocket, then turned back to the elf.

'Make sure the house is clean and that there is no obvious sign that anything has changed. If Lucius and Narcissa return sooner than expected, there is no reason for them to think that you know anything. If they ask you, then I order you to pretend you know nothing. Understood?'

Dobby nodded sadly.

Severus gazed at him for a long moment. Then the room dissolved, and Moody caught a glimpse of a dark alleyway before the memory faded into the familiar grey fog.

* * *

Lupin squeezed Harry's shoulder. 'Well, at least it's over, now.' 

A flame of anger crawled in Harry's stomach. Was that all it meant to him? He shrugged Lupin's hand off his shoulder and moved towards the stairs, fighting the fury down with a deep breath.

'You said you wanted to see that book,' he said, in a voice that was slightly too loud. 'I'll just go and get it, shall I?'

He ran upstairs without waiting for an answer, and into his room where he threw himself down on the bed with a sense of relief. Right now he just wanted to be on his own. He closed his eyes, wishing he could shut out his feelings as easily as his view of the ceiling.

The fog cleared, and Moody found himself standing in a sitting room, curtained against the night and lit by the friendly glow of an open fire and a couple of soft lamps. For a moment he grappled with a peculiar sense of a double-image: he was looking at somewhere which seemed familiar, but there was another memory – his own – fighting to superimpose itself. Then, with a nasty jolt, he realised why.

That wall opposite the window, with the pretty, patterned wallpaper… drenched in blood, four long, deep lines scored so deep the brick underneath was damaged… That nice, forest green carpet, deep-piled and soft… soaking in blood so it welled up over his shoes and stained the hem of his robes as he walked across it towards …

… that boy, in his long black Death Eater cloak, holding a two year old child at wand-point, visceral hate burning in his eyes as the child's parents lay silent in the morass of blood…

…sitting in his silken robes, hunched in a chair by the window, a pile of parchment on the table in front of him.

Frank Longbottom sat opposite Snape, his handsome face serious as he stared at the parchment. Severus seemed to have almost shut down. His eyes, fixed on the table cloth, were utterly blank, empty of any emotion. Moody had an impression they had been sitting like that for a while. Then the door opened. Alice, with her young son sleeping against her shoulder, came in, followed by Albus Dumbledore.

Frank looked round with a slight start, and rose to greet Dumbledore with an unmistakeable look of relief on his face. Moody felt a peculiar jealousy stir inside. Why hadn't Frank called him? Why Dumbledore?

'Dumbledore! Thanks for coming. Have a seat.' Frank gestured to the chair he had vacated, and Moody noted with interest that Severus looked anything but pleased to see his old Headmaster. Frank glanced from Dumbledore to Severus as he spoke, then frowned. Severus' gaze had flickered to a space just over his shoulder, suddenly becoming intense. Frank turned to see Alice standing just inside the room, still holding Neville, somehow excluded from what was going on.

'Alice,' said Frank, and his voice had a curt tone that Moody couldn't remember him using before. 'Shouldn't you be getting Neville to bed? It's late.' Alice gave him a sharp look, and left, the door snapping closed behind her. Frank turned back to Snape and Dumbledore, the faint look of annoyance subsiding as he drew up a third chair. Snape was once more staring at the table, but now he looked angry.

'Well,' Dumbledore said brightly. 'This is a surprise, Severus. What brings you here tonight?'

There was a short silence before Severus spoke. 'I've already told Frank,' he said sulkily without looking up. 'I wish to speak to Alastor Moody. I have information which he requires.'

Dumbledore regarded him with kindly eyes. 'I'm sure you do,' he replied gently. 'However, Alastor would see you in Azkaban within the hour. He would only have to look at your left arm for all the proof he needs, would he not?'

Severus looked up sharply, meeting Dumbledore's gaze with an intense look. 'Yes,' he said jerkily. 'But I have come here to surrender. I do not deny that I am a Death Eater. I deserve Azkaban. But no one else believes the Malfoys are guilty. Octavian has bought his immunity from the Ministry, and the evidence Moody needs to breach it has, until now, been out of his reach.'

Moody watched the scene intently. Dumbledore's gaze was locked into Snape's and it was clear that Severus was beginning to lose control. How good at hiding his thoughts was he when he was really upset?

'This is true,' Dumbledore replied in the same quiet, sympathetic voice. 'But why are you handing it over now, Severus? I thought the Malfoy's were your friends. They have been very good to you, haven't they? After your father died…'

Severus' jaw tightened, and he covered his face with one hand. He screwed his eyes shut, but two hot tears forced their way out before he could regain control. Frank looked away, a mixture of sympathy and slight embarrassment on his face. But Dumbledore sat back slightly, and Moody thought he discerned the faintest look of triumph in the bright blue eyes. How much of what had happened had Dumbledore managed to discover during this interview?

Dumbledore rummaged through his pockets and drew out a huge white handkerchief, crumpled but clean. He reached across to Severus and pushed it into his free hand. 'Come now,' he said gently. 'There are other ways of bringing down the Malfoys, you know. Better ways.'

Severus buried his face in the handkerchief for a moment before looking up with a glare. 'I don't need your help to deal with the Malfoys, I'm not here for them,' he hissed, and glanced at Frank. 'The Dark Lord is planning to attack you and your family. He believes that your child is one of two who might be able to defeat him. He has discovered a prophecy which predicts this, and he is planning to kill all of you.'

'The Dark Lord has always been after us –' Frank began, but Moody noticed that the bright light in Dumbledore's eyes had abruptly disappeared.

'What prophecy is this, Severus?' he asked in a sharper voice. 'How long have you known?'

' "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…" 'Severus quoted. 'I found out last week when the Dark Lord called us all to a meeting. It is rare for us all to be called together; usually he sees us in small groups. This was important. He believes this prophecy is true, and he intends to kill any child to whom it might refer.'

Dumbledore and Frank were silent. Moody studied them carefully. It was clear that they already knew about the Prophecy; of course they would, since Albus had witnessed the entire thing, worked out which children might be its subject, and alerted the Order. Severus seemed unaware of this, however. He seemed suddenly deflated, and once more stared at the table, looking lost and depressed.

'Severus,' Dumbledore said at last; and his voice was no longer gentle, but businesslike. 'Why did you come here tonight? No lies, boy; the truth.'

Severus looked up, shocked; and once again his gaze seemed locked by Dumbledore's. 'I intended to surrender to the Auror Moody. I couldn't find him, so I came here.' His nostrils flared as if he had suddenly realised the tacit accusation. 'I have no intention of killing anyone. If I had, I would already have done so.'

Dumbledore stared deep into his eyes. 'Why do you want to surrender?'

Severus' mouth trembled. 'I am not a child killer,' he whispered.

'But you are a murderer, aren't you?' Dumbledore's voice was as soft as brushed steel.

Severus gazed back with intense eyes. In them Moody could see the desire to run, to deny, to justify, all fighting with the decision to confess and accept the consequences. All because Severus really would not kill a child? Or because of what he had discovered about Octavian Malfoy's part in the death of his father's family?

'Yes,' Severus breathed at last. 'I am a murderer. A killer who tortured and slaughtered innocent muggles because the Dark Lord commanded it.'

The cold dark eyes bored into Dumbledore's steady blue gaze as if challenging him to recoil; but Dumbledore did not flinch. Instead he simply raised an eyebrow. 'And?'

Severus' gaze faltered. 'And because I wanted to,' he whispered to the tablecloth.

'Why?' Frank's voice held genuine puzzlement rather than horror.

Severus drew a ragged breath, the large nostrils flaring slightly. 'I hate them. I wish them all dead.'

'Even their children?' Moody thought he heard a faintly mocking tone in Dumbledore's voice; but Severus continued to examine the tablecloth and answered in a voice that was empty and tired.

'My father's entire family were murdered. By muggles; or so we believed. He always warned me not to trust anyone of non-magical blood, he said they were greedy for our power and would stop at nothing to get it, even though they lacked any ability to use it. They were amoral, worthless, less than animals.

'The Dark Lord also believes this. When I joined him, I thought I could at last avenge the murder done on my family, and help rid the world of such mindless evil forever. Every man or woman I killed utterly deserved to die. People who wouldn't think twice about sacrificing an innocent life if it might extend their own worthless span, begging me not to kill them.'

There was silence. Severus stared down at the tablecloth, eyes wide and blank. Frank looked truly revolted. Dumbledore, however, wore a shrewd expression as he waited for Snape to go on.

'I… realised that no muggle could have been responsible for what happened to my father's family', Severus continued at last. He propped his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands, hair falling across his face in long tendrils. 'But I didn't believe any true, pure blooded wizard could have been involved. Halfbloods, mudbloods… not a pureblood who brought the killers to my father's home. They all deserved death; and the Dark Lord would bring it to them. I was proud to serve him.'

'What made you change your mind?' Frank asked. Moody smiled to himself. Most Aurors practiced the subtle interrogation technique of manipulating a subject to say more than intended. Frank had always preferred the direct approach, and Moody had always respected him for it. He had always suspected that in some cases, it was more effective.

'We killed Regulus Black,' Severus said in a flat voice. 'The Dark Lord said he had betrayed us. He was a pureblood. I did not understand how he could possibly be a traitor. He did not care for killing, but that was just squeamishness, not a rejection of the cause…'

Severus' voice trailed off. There was a listening silence as Dumbledore and Frank waited for him to go on. 'Then, just a few days later, the Dark Lord summoned us and revealed the prophecy.'

'And that was it? You just decided you'd had enough and you were going?' Frank sounded disbelieving. Severus suddenly seemed to focus.

'I don't care what you think, Frank! You know what I am, I am not denying it! I am asking for no favours, no mercy. Only to give myself up, and to give Auror Moody the information he needs to arrest the Malfoys.'

Dumbledore gave a soft chuckle. 'I think you want more than that, Severus,' he said quietly, as the two of them looked at him in surprise. 'I think you want revenge as badly as you ever did. All that has changed is your perception of who is guilty.

'What if I could offer you a way of bringing down the Malfoys… and the Dark Lord… permanently?'

Severus gazed at him, his face tight.

'Surrender is such an easy option, isn't it?' Dumbledore continued softly. 'Give yourself up, confess your soul to Auror Moody, and … then what?' He fixed Severus with a knowing gaze, and in the dark eyes Moody saw the conflict. Had Severus realised, even as he considered the consequences of spending the rest of his life in Azkaban, that Dumbledore knew about his secret destiny? Had he actually considered it himself before leaving Malfoy Manor? Moody had a suspicion he had not. But he was certainly thinking about it now. There was a sudden hopelessness in his face as he turned to stare once more at the table, a look of utter despair.

And Dumbledore watched the internal fight with an expression of satisfaction. Moody studied him intently. _You've got him, haven't you, you wily devil?_ he thought. _You knew all the buttons to push, and the poor kid didn't stand a chance. Any more than he did with Voldemort_.

'There is another solution, Severus,' Dumbledore said, after giving Severus time to consider the facts of his life as they currently appeared. 'Go back to the Malfoys. Continue with your life as a Death Eater and as a member of Octavian's staff. And tell me everything that happens from now on.'

Severus stared at him. 'Spy on the Dark Lord for you?'

Dumbledore nodded. 'What you have told us tonight is valuable, and we are not at all ungrateful. And I observe that you have taken an enormous risk in doing so. You have already witnessed the fate of those Voldemort believes to be traitors, and yet you betray him. Whatever your true reasons, this is an act of great courage.

'However, you came here tonight because you wished to save the life of an innocent child. I would ask: would you save this one and stand by while others die? For do not doubt, Severus, we are powerless to stop him. You have done a brave thing in warning us; but you have saved no one.

Moody watched Severus' face. From despair to hope to something which looked almost like panic as Dumbledore finished speaking. Moody suddenly realised he no longer doubted Snape's commitment to the Order. He would have to think carefully on all he had witnessed in the Pensieve to decide exactly what Snape's reasons for turning had been, but that his conversion had been total… Moody found himself suddenly convinced.

Severus' eyes now burned with passionate determination as he held Dumbledore's gaze. 'I'll do anything you ask of me,' he whispered.

The scene faded.

* * *

Harry sat cross-legged on the bed. The books, scrolls and translator thing lay in a tangled heap with the sheets and blankets. He began desultorily sorting everything out when there came a soft knock at the door. He sighed. 'Come in.' 

Lupin pushed the door open, two bottles of butterbeer in his hand. 'I thought I'd save you the trouble of lugging a heavy book down to the kitchen,' he said lightly. 'If Severus' book is the unedited version of the one Dumbledore brought you, it must be quite big.'

He sat down on the end of the bed with a gentle smile and held out a bottle. Harry took it with a muttered thanks, and shunted the book towards Lupin who opened it with an look of interest. Then he frowned.

'Oh yeah,' said Harry, remembering. 'You'll need this to read it…'

He grabbed the translator as it was about to slide off the bed, and handed it over. As Lupin opened the book and began to read, Harry picked up the scrolls. A copy of Sirius' will, a list of deeds and titles, a bank statement with Saturday's date on it… a fat scroll with a broken seal.

Harry frowned. He remembered that one from earlier, but hadn't given it much thought; but now he realised he had no idea what it was. He unrolled it carefully, a stiff bundle of long, yellowing sheets of parchment. His eyes widened as he read the first few lines.

* * *

Just a note to say: I'm going to try posting double chapters from now on, probably on the Friday. Should have it all up by the time HBP is published. Twenty-one days to go! 

S.

24th June 2005


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 27**

The fog cleared. Moody glanced around. He appeared to be in dense forest, tall trees keeping out the light with their foliage. _It must be summer_, he thought; even in the gloom, he could see that everything was in its prime.

A rustle just behind him drew his attention. He turned in time to see the bushes move; then a figure in fur-lined robes burst from behind them, wild-eyed and desperate.

'Severus!' the man cried, and Moody recognised him as Igor Karkaroff. Snape emerged from the dusk, level with Moody. The change in his appearance since the last memory seemed profound. The long hair had been untidily cut so it just brushed his shoulders, and the coloured, silken robes had been replaced with plain black ones. He glanced down at Snape's hands, hanging loosely at his side, and noticed the impressive set of talons had gone as well, hacked down as short as possible.

'Hello Igor,' he said softly. 'Why are you here? The Dark Lord will be expecting us both. I had every intention of going to him as soon as my duties permitted it. But there was nothing to stop you leaving at once. Why didn't you?'

Karkaroff gave a disbelieving bark of a laugh. 'Are you mad, Severus? The Dark Lord will be angry with us! All this time he's been alive, and we… we did nothing!'

Snape moved forward with an assurance that made him appear to float over the forest floor. Karkaroff stumbled away from him as if afraid.

'The Dark Lord will forgive us, Igor,' Snape whispered. 'We had no way of knowing he was still alive, nor where he was. All we have to do is return now and renew our allegiance. He may punish us, but it will be worth it.'

Karkaroff backed himself into a tree and stopped, looking too frightened to move. 'No, Severus! He thinks one of us is a traitor! There is a traitor, you know that, don't you? Someone who was giving away our secrets, even before he fell! He'll think it's one of us because we didn't go when he summoned us! And that Auror, Moody – that wasn't really him! That was Barty Crouch, spying on us both, all the time we've been here!'

Snape stopped, only a few feet from Karkaroff. 'Yes,' he said. 'I know. But it doesn't matter now, Igor, because Barty was kissed by a Dementor. So he is in no condition to tell anyone anything about either of us.'

Some of the tension seemed to ease from Karkaroff, and he pushed himself upright, away from the tree. Snape withdrew his wand, and Karkaroff gazed uncertainly at it.

'Of course,' Snape continued absently, 'you are probably right about the spy. It had to be one of us; everyone else seems to be accounted for, one way or another.'

Karkaroff stared at him, and Moody watched as the devious mind moved towards a conclusion. Karkaroff's eyes widened, but now there was a cunning light in them. 'You!' he breathed. 'You were the spy?'

Snape gazed at him, his eyes soulless behind the veil of greasy hair. 'Yes,' he said lightly. 'I still am, as a matter of fact, Igor.' He spread his hands wide, wand hanging carelessly from the long fingers. The corner of his mouth lifted in a nasty smirk. 'What do you think? Did you have any idea at all?'

Karkaroff staggered back, fumbling with his own wand until he held it in a shaky grasp, pointed at Snape. 'You've made a mistake in telling me, Severus,' he replied, 'you're my way back in! I'll take you back, and the Dark Lord will reward me for capturing the spy!'

Snape smirked more deeply, drifting a little closer, making no effort to aim his wand. 'Be my guest,' he whispered. 'But do you really think you're up to the job? Do you really think you'll take me alive?'

'Then I'll take you dead!' shouted Karkaroff. 'AVEDA KEDAVRA!'

Snape opened his arms wide, his lips moving silently as he closed his eyes. As Moody watched in disbelief, a jet of green light shot from Karkaroff's wand and hit him squarely in the chest. There was a moment of stillness. Then Karkaroff dropped heavily to the ground, the impact forcing a last gasp from his lungs.

Snape let his arms fall to his sides, and he gazed for a moment at the dead wizard. Then he swiftly moved over to the body and seized one of its arms. There was a dizzying moment as the forest dissolved around him. Then, with a rush of colour, the scene resolved itself into a graveyard.

Moody looked around. Pale gravestones and moss-covered tombs lay undisturbed in all directions, and for a moment, they seemed to be alone. Then, like shadows, cloaked figures began appearing, moving in one by one until they formed a closed circle around Snape and his unpleasant burden. There was a moment of silence; then two Death Eaters stepped aside to allow a tall figure to join them.

Moody found himself taking an apprehensive breath as the figure drew back its hood. Blood red eyes burned in a face too snake-like to resemble anything human. It stalked towards Snape, who gazed up with the same puppy-like expression he had worn for Octavian Malfoy.

'My Lord,' Snape whispered, falling to his knees. 'Please forgive me.' He grasped the edge of Voldemort's robe and kissed it desperately. 'I would have come sooner, but it is not possible to Disapparate from within Hogwarts' grounds, and I– '

'Severus.'

Voldemort spoke in a high, chilling voice that raised the hairs on the back of Moody's neck, even inside the memory. He did not think he had ever been this close to the Dark Lord in real life. He walked around the little scene, taking in every detail of the horror of Voldemort's new physical being. He wondered, for the first time in a while, what the Potter boy had experienced in the terrible hour he had spent in this place.

Snape looked almost drained with terror as he gazed up at his former lord. Voldemort reached down and wound long, scaly fingers into Snape's hair, raising him to his feet until they were face to face. The piercing, crimson eyes bore down with terrible power. Snape held the gaze for a few moments. Then with a moan, his eyes rolled and his knees buckled. Voldemort let him go, and Snape collapsed on top of Karkaroff's body with a whimper.

'So this is the traitor, is it, Severus?' Voldemort enquired. He beckoned with a quick gesture, and two burly Death Eaters broke the circle to pick up Karkaroff's body. Snape pulled himself to his feet, shaking slightly.

'Yes, my Lord,' he whispered hoarsely. 'I discovered that Karkaroff had betrayed us at his trial, and during the last few months at Hogwarts I was able to discover the rest of his treachery. After the Tri-Wizard contest had ended, I tracked him to the Forbidden Forest, just beyond wards which protect the school. I challenged him and he confessed everything to me. He tried to kill me, and I killed him. I brought him here … f-for you, my Lord.'

Voldemort stared down at Snape in silence. Snape gave him a pleading look. 'My Lord… I can hide nothing from you. If you search my heart, you will find my fears… and my love.' He knelt at Voldemort's feet and this time bent his head to kiss the robes. His face twisted in grief and tears began to flow. 'Forgive me, my Lord!' he wept, 'I truly believed you dead. If I had but known, I would have come at once…'

Moody studied the performance carefully. It was very persuasive. He found himself comparing it to the way Snape had behaved when he was explaining himself to Frank and Dumbledore. If he had been a true observer at each event, Moody knew he would have found himself equally convinced by Snape on both occasions. But here in the Pensieve, there were stronger clues to identify the lies. Moody finally made the realisation that had been nagging him earlier. Obvious, really, now he thought about it. Memories are not an objective record of events, but a subjective projection of their owner's perceptions. And in here, right now, the lies were easier to see because of Snape's underlying insecurity about his act. What must it have taken, to look into that monster's eyes and lie? The terror had been absolutely genuine. What did it take to successfully deceive a wizard as powerful as Voldemort?

For that matter, what did it take to deflect the Killing Curse? That was impossible! Oh yes, Harry Potter had done it – but that was a very specific case, and nobody had come up with an adequate explanation for how it had happened, in Moody's opinion. Certainly not enough for anyone to work out a counter-curse for surviving it, surely?

Such immense power. To own such power and be able to hide it… and yet have no idea of its extent? Moody frowned. Many of his original burning questions were already answered, but now he had new ones. And the nagging sense that these were more important than any he had previously asked.

* * *

There was a soft knock at the door, and Harry jumped sharply, his attention wrenched from the scroll almost as soon as he'd realised what it was. 'Yes?'

Tonks came in with a warm smile, looking refreshed. Lupin smiled back, and Harry sensed him relax at the sight of her. Anger licked at the pit of his stomach.

'Dumbledore just contacted me to say he and McGonagall are coming over,' she said to Lupin, with a passing, automatic smile at Harry. 'They'll be here in a few minutes; see you down in the kitchen?'

Lupin looked from Tonks to Harry, as if torn. Then, with a resigned look, he said, 'Okay then, I'll see you later, Harry.'

He got up, leaving the book on the end of the bed, and gave Harry's shoulder another squeeze before leaving with Tonks.

Harry listened to their footsteps disappear, then turned his attention back to the scroll. It suited him fine that they were leaving him alone. Somehow he suspected they wouldn't want him to read this particular scroll; it had obviously got mixed up with the others by accident.

He unrolled it carefully, and read again the opening lines:

_Ministry of Magic: Department of Magical Law Enforcement_

_Incident Report: Saturday 15th May 1982_

_Submitted by: Alastor Moody, Senior Auror_

_

* * *

_

Voldemort had evidently believed Snape; but Moody already knew that. It hadn't, however, stopped him punishing him with a couple of liberal doses of the Cruciatus curse. The scene faded with Snape sobbing pathetically at Voldemort's feet as the Dark Lord issued orders to the assembled Death Eaters.

Moody heaved a sigh. As this event had taken place just over a year ago, it must surely be the last memory in here? He stood in the grey void feeling mentally drained, waiting for the Pensieve to release him.

Instead, the fog began to draw back. Moody found himself standing on a floor made from a solid plane of rock; dark, striated, shot through with narrow veins of crystal. He looked around and saw that he was standing in a vast stone cavern, the walls as sheer as the floor. Only the shadows gave shape to the distant perimeters, and these were created by numerous small oil lamps, placed apparently at random around the carven floor.

Moody looked around. Snape was here somewhere, but he couldn't see him. Then, just on the edge of his hearing, came a low voice.

'… name you Nameless One; willingly I give you my blood, that you may feed and be gone from this place until I or my heir shall come to feed you again…'

Moody moved towards the sound, and the shadows revealed a tall, thin figure, robed and cowled in black. As he watched, there was a flash of silver as the dim light caught the edge of a blade, then a glimpse of long white fingers as they closed around it. There was a slight gasp. Moody drew level with the figure in time to see Severus raise his closed fist to his face with a grimace of pain… and fear.

'Khvalibog…'

The voice was like ice down Moody's spine. He looked around quickly to see where it came from, but there was nothing. He looked at Severus, and found himself gazing directly into the dark eyes; and they were as black and depthless as they had ever seemed. For a moment, for the first time inside the Pensieve, Moody had the unnerving sense that he was part of the memory he was witnessing. He was aware that the air was cold and the floor hard and unyielding, and beneath it lay thousands of feet of rock, all the way down to the earth's core. And the air was thin… and hard to breathe…

'Feed me…' the guttural voice demanded. Severus raised his hands, the black sleeves of his robe falling back from pale, scrawny arms.

Moody felt weak. The cold was more than physical; it was like the first icy prickle of panic welling up from the oldest part of his brain, from a time when he was helpless and dependent, and mortally afraid of the dark. He leaned heavily on his staff, suddenly aware that he only had one good leg and one natural eye. Then, to his horror, Moody suddenly realised he was completely blind on one side; while the sense of his mortal self had increased, his magical eye was suddenly useless. He swayed, beginning to loose his balance; and as he started to fall he saw a dark mist drifting up from Severus' feet, shrouding his body until only the gleam of the knife was clearly visible. The mist began to thicken, take on shape… and Severus was suddenly held by a giant black hand, a muscled fist closed around the length of his body.

Moody landed heavily, as if falling from a great height. The impact forced the breath from his body, as it had from Karkaroff's, and he felt a deathly inertia come upon him. Above him he could see three dark, wet lines running down Severus' bare arms and into the mist… it was impossible to draw breath, and the darkness was closing in, unconsciousness and the absence of light combining into one, suffocating sense of despair.

A hand like narrow bands of steel closed on his wrist. Moody suddenly found himself able to breathe, and he sucked in desperate breaths. The fear was gone, but the darkness became disorientating; there was a dizzying, spinning sensation, and…

… Moody was sitting at the table in front of the obsidian Pensieve. Kneeling at his side, fingers still locked around his wrist, was Snape, trembling and gasping on the floor.

It took Moody a full minute to come to his senses. Then with a curse, he surged awkwardly to his feet, knocking over his chair and almost overbalancing. Snape's grip was turning clammy, but showing no sign of loosening; his breathing was hoarse and laboured. Moody prised the fingers loose and let his patient collapse as he threw open his trunk and searched frantically for the potion that would hold off a heart attack. How Snape had found the strength to get out of bed and pull him from the Pensieve he did not know. Sometimes a nervous surge of adrenaline could give a critically ill person the strength they needed to move around if they wanted to badly enough. But when the adrenaline was exhausted, the exertion could prove fatal.

He found it at last, and turned to where Snape lay, sprawled and gasping. Pulling out the stopper, he upturned the small bottle. A clear stream of liquid poured over Snape's back, and the laboured breathing began to ease. Moody breathed a sigh of relief. He stoppered the bottle and threw it back into his trunk, and gazed down with a small frown.

'What did you think you were doing?' he grumbled. 'You're not strong enough for this.'

Snape twisted his head up, just far enough to fix Moody with a burning glare. 'What did you think you were doing?' he hissed. 'As if you hadn't seen enough by then!'

Moody regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then retrieved his wand from the table. 'Mobilicorpus,' he muttered, and levitated his patient back onto the bed. Snape lay on his back in a crumpled mess of sheets and blankets, still breathing heavily as he glared at the ceiling. Moody began remaking the bed.

'The ex-house-elf gave me your Pensieve in return for your freedom. If it gave me the answers I wanted,' he said.

'And do you have them?' Snape asked. Moody folded the blankets high under his chin, but Snape fought his good arm free. Moody caught it, feeling for the pulse, and felt Snape flinch at his touch.

'No,' he replied quietly, and sat down on the edge of the bed. He held on to the wrist, opening up the fingers and examining the palm. No sign of a scar. He looked up to see Snape looking at him, and was struck by the intense look of hatred in his eyes.

'What happened?' Moody asked. 'I've seen the memories of you and your dad. Of you at school. You killing Octavian Malfoy and Igor Karkaroff, and you giving yourself up to Frank and Albus. But that last memory… that was different. What would have happened if you hadn't got me out? And what made you come after me? Did you know what I was seeing, or was that just chance?'

The tendons in Snape's wrist stood out like wires above the bone as he strained uselessly to withdraw his hand from Moody's grasp. Then with a defeated gasp he gave up, and turned his face away. There was a long silence.

'The demon exists on all levels,' he whispered eventually. 'Even in my memory, if you get too close, it knows you're there. They don't inhabit time like we do.'

He took a heavy breath, as if speech was hard work, and Moody guessed exhaustion was about to take him. 'I'm linked to it by my blood. When it sees something it wants, I feel it. For the last four thousand years it has had no chance to see anything except my family, so when it… became excited, I immediately realised that it had to be seeing someone invading my memory of it.'

He turned his gaunt face back to Moody. 'I don't know what would have happened if I hadn't come for you.' The eyes closed.

Moody tugged gently on his hand. 'Two more questions,' he said. 'You seemed to be suggesting I could have brought myself out of there whenever I pleased. I don't know how. Also, can I choose to enter the Pensieve at a point after your memories of visiting the demon? Bear in mind that your freedom may depend on this.'

Snape opened his eyes and glared weakly. 'There are only two memories of the demon. When you touch the Pensieve with your wand, concentrate on the assumption that you have already seen those memories, and make yourself believe it. As for getting out… tell the Pensieve you have seen all you need and that your questions are answered. Believe it, and the Pensieve will expel you.'

Interesting. Moody placed the limp hand gently on the sleeping man's chest and looked thoughtfully at the Pensieve. He would give Snape his next infusion of _vitalis_ potion, have a short rest, and then try again.

_

* * *

_

_At approximately 3am on the morning of Saturday 15th May 1982, I was summoned to the residence of Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom, 18 Firkin Lane, London NW1._

_On my arrival I observed that the house was in darkness. There was no sign of forced entry. The front door was open fractionally, and I entered by it._

_The house was silent. I illuminated the hall and discovered the doors to the drawing room, dining room and kitchen were open. All three rooms had been extensively vandalised: most of the furniture destroyed, the contents of cupboards and drawers strewn about the floors. No graffiti or damage to the structure of the house. No sign of magical damage. No sign of any persons, resident or otherwise._

_I ascended the stairs to the first floor. As before, every door stood open and every room had been ransacked. Impossible to tell at this stage if anything had been taken. Still no sign of the Longbottoms or their assailants._

_On the second floor the damage indicated a struggle. Burn marks on the wall of the nursery, furniture overturned and smashed, toys ripped to pieces. Clear signs of a fight in the master bedroom: more burn marks, some blood on the door frame._

_At the end of the corridor was a closed door. It was the room Alice used as her office. Blood seeping underneath the door. I used the Reductor curse to remove the door. _

_The carpet is soaked in blood so deeply that it covers my feet as I enter the room, flowing from its source on my left. The wall to my left is damaged by four long, deep bloody gashes. I cannot recognise anything in the remains which lie beneath the damage in the wall, but it is from this that the blood flows._

_A young wizard stands in front of the fireplace, holding the Longbottoms' baby. I recognised him to be Severus Snape, an employee of Octavian Malfoy and resident at Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire. He is pointing his wand at the child. There is blood all over the baby's back where Snape is holding him by his coat. I aimed my wand him and told him to give me the child. I advised him that it would be in his favour to let the child go unharmed and that I would kill him if he did not. He looked at me with an intensity of hatred and animosity which is beyond my powers to describe. He threatened to kill the child if I did not do as he said. He told me to put down my wand or he would kill the child. I did as he said and raised my hands to indicate that I was unarmed. He aimed his wand at me and held the child out to me. The child began to scream as I took him. As soon as I was holding the child, Snape Disapparated._

_I saw Alice lying underneath the window. She appeared to be dead. I observed that she had been tortured to death. In her hand she held a red pendant on a long gold chain evidence item 1. Other Aurors arrived at the Longbottoms' house at this time. We found Frank's body lying in a pool of blood opposite Alice. I left the other Aurors, and Disapparated straight to St. Mungo's with the Longbottoms' child, which was deeply distressed._

Harry gazed into space. So that was what the Aurors had found on the night Neville's parents were driven out of their minds by Death Eaters. What had Snape been doing there? Had he really been involved? He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

He had never given it much thought before, but it occurred to him now that Snape had always been as unpleasant to Neville as he had been to him. That was why Neville was so afraid of him, wasn't it?

And yet Harry couldn't think of one instance where he himself had been afraid. Angry, filled with hatred – but fear? No. Now he came to think of it, he had never once been scared of Snape. But Neville was petrified.

Maybe this was why. Somewhere deep down, Neville remembered what had happened to his parents, and who was responsible. That was why he had reacted so badly in their fourth year, when he had seen the Cruciatus curse demonstrated on a spider; why he had worked so hard in the Defence Against The Dark Arts club last year after the Lestranges escaped Azkaban…

… why Snape had been the thing he had feared most when he faced a boggart in Lupin's class two years ago…?

* * *

Yay! Thanks for the reviews! Erm.. only one chapter tonight, as I've just read through the second one and decided I wanted to change a few bits, general polishing, type of thing. Should be up on Sunday though :)

Warmest hugs all round - thanks again! And please review ;D


	28. Chapter Twenty Eight

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 28**

Moody drummed his fingers on the table top and considered the Pensieve. So if he really concentrated on the belief that he had already been through all the memories of the demon, he would enter the Pensieve after the last of them, would he?

But supposing he failed to believe strongly enough? He glanced across at his patient. Snape lay deeply asleep, his breathing just audible. If Moody fell foul of the demon again, he sincerely doubted that Snape would be able to save him a second time.

Then again… supposing he tried going in there focused on something else? What he really wanted to know was what had happened on the night of Saturday 15th May, 1982. If he entered the Pensieve with the sincere conviction that he had seen everything up to that memory… would the Pensieve oblige him by taking him straight there?

Moody chewed his lip thoughtfully, a gleam in his normal eye. It had to be worth a try, didn't it?

* * *

Harry shuffled through the rest of the parchment. After the first sheet with Moody's report of what he had found, the rest comprised several lists and inventories: the Longbottoms' injuries, the Ministry documents Mrs Longbottom appeared to have been working on at home (and which had not been taken), the damage to the house.

That covered several sheets of parchment. Whatever the Lestranges had been looking for, it seemed they had not found it; it appeared that there wasn't a room, cupboard or box they hadn't torn to pieces in their search. However, nowhere in the report was there any indication of what it was they had been after.

And finally the description of that room of horror. Harry skimmed down it, morbid fascination pulling him on, squeamishness keeping him from lingering over passages listing dismembered body parts.

When there was nothing left to read, he sat for a while and let his mind drift. Snape's book had mentioned that strong emotion could empty the mind, but Harry hadn't considered the effect of horror. Hadn't known about anything so bluntly horrifying before.

He pulled the book into his lap, wanting to find something, anything, to occupy his brain so it would stop picturing what he had just read. Picking up the translator, he opened the book and found himself back at the page he had been on before, when he had decided to experiment and ended up startling Lupin downstairs in the kitchen.

Ah, yes, this was what he need to take his mind off things. _How to turn oneself invisible without the aid of a cloak_. Harry forced away the images of blood and began to read.

* * *

Moody's normal eye narrowed as he concentrated, wand hovering above the Pensieve. Glimpses of earlier memories, ones he had already seen, flitted across its misty surface. He was beginning to recognise a major obstacle: he was trying to find a memory of which he had no personal experience. And because he had never personally experienced it, he had no way of finding it. All he had managed to establish was that it was not the last memory in here.

Finally he sighed and leaned back in his chair. The memory of Snape confessing all to Frank and Albus had come before the demon. If Snape's memories were filed in here thematically, why wasn't the attack in with that? It would have made sense if all memories relating to the Longbottoms were together.

Unless it wasn't in there. Perhaps the attack on the Longbottoms wasn't Snape's idea of a bad memory?

Moody felt his concentration disintegrate. He realised, better than others knew, that he was a bit obsessed and paranoid. But was he really letting his own feelings run away with him that badly? If Snape felt any remorse for anything, if he really had abandoned Voldemort and risked his life rather than kill a child, would not the attack on Alice be a memory as painful to him as it was to Moody? Alice had been pregnant, and the attack had killed her unborn child. Moody swallowed. If only he had got there sooner…

He gazed down at the surface of the Pensieve, and thought of Alice. Lovely Alice. She filled his mind suddenly, the memory bright and clear – and instantly her image appeared below him in the Pensieve. Long, thick blonde hair, big blue eyes in that china doll face, rosebud lips parted in a sweet smile. Moody caught his breath as she smiled up at him, and let the tip of his wand dip the surface almost without realising. There was a dizzying rush, then he was standing in front of her.

'I love you,' she said softly. 'By my soul, I love you more than I have ever loved my husband.'

* * *

Harry stood in front of the mirrored wardrobe door, and concentrated. It was difficult to tell if the spell had worked unless he watched himself actually fade, but with practise he was beginning to notice subtle differences in the way the world looked when he was invisible.

Lupin thought he had Disapparated. Maybe he should have told him the truth; but did it really matter? This, according to the book, was hardly magic. It didn't require a wand. Like Occlumency, it only needed a high level of mental discipline. Theoretically, muggles could do this. But only for the magically gifted would this level of success be possible.

If Lupin had stayed to read, he would have found out for himself anyway. But he had left suddenly to go and see Dumbledore and the others down in the kitchen.

Harry gave a small smile. Perhaps he would go and join them. This time, however, he would be careful not to bump into anything and let anyone know he was there.

* * *

Moody, dumbstruck, moved aside and looked around. He recognised the attic bedroom. The summer sun was beginning to set, the soft golden light playing across half the dormer window and into Alice's face as she leaned back against the frame. In the dark shadow of the other half stood Snape, his pale face masked by long fronds of hair. The black eyes no longer looked cold or distant; they held a mixture of hope, fear, longing.

'How?' he whispered. 'How can you possibly want me when you have Frank?'

Alice gave a rueful smile, glancing outside; and Moody thought for a moment he saw pain in her eyes.

'I love Frank,' she replied quietly. 'I thought I was in love with him. He's gorgeous. He's kind, loving, intelligent…' She broke off, shaking her head. 'I wish I could say that it's just the strain of the war, or something… but it's not.'

She looked back at Snape, meeting his eyes, suddenly vulnerable. 'I wouldn't hurt him for the world. But the truth is that my love for him isn't as strong as I thought it was. Maybe if things were different, everything would have been… different. But now you're here in my life… and what I feel for you is like nothing I've ever felt for anyone. I realise now that I am in love, really in love, for the first time in my life. It doesn't affect the way I feel for Frank. I still love him, as much as I ever did. But … it's nothing next to what I feel for you.'

She came towards him, reaching out with trembling fingers to touch his face, his hair. He flinched slightly at that first touch, and the look in his eyes was raw. She leaned up, pulling him down into a gentle kiss. He moaned softly, sliding his hands around her waist…

… and Moody backed away, bewildered and uncomprehending.

Alice had an affair with Snape! It wasn't possible! She and Frank were happy… they were…

He gazed blankly at the two of them as they kissed, deeper, harder, hands roaming each other with building urgency, moving towards the bed… He turned away, feeling again the disorientation caused by overwhelming emotion in a memory, and wondered, tangentially, why Snape had considered _this_ a bad memory…

He tried to ignore what was happening behind him by concentrating on what he knew about Alice; or what he had been so sure he'd known, up until about five minutes ago.

That she and Frank had been through a bit of a rough patch, he knew. It hadn't entirely surprised him; some forward-thinking wizards had no problem with their wives pursuing their own careers, and Frank had been one of them. But when their child had been born, at the height of Voldemort's power, Frank's liberalism had receded sharply.

He wanted Alice to stay at home with the baby. It would be safer, he said; she would be there to protect him; there was a better chance for them both if she was no longer on active service.

Alice had disagreed. Frank's parents were more than willing, and very capable, of looking after their grandson while she went back to work. The Ministry couldn't afford to lose a fully trained Auror at a time like this. And they were both so well known that hiding at home was no defence at all.

Moody had suggested the compromise. Alice would stay at home with her baby, but while she was there she could sift the intelligence reports and come up with new lines of enquiry. It was a valuable task which would free up some more Aurors for frontline work while keeping her out of immediate danger.

It had been agreed, and for almost a year it had worked satisfactorily. And then it had suddenly become very successful, as Alice started turning out some very high quality information. Moody fumed. That would have been when dear Mr Snape had suddenly popped up and been harnessed into service by Dumbledore.

So, while Frank had been risking his life for the Ministry, Alice had been at home receiving… considerably more than just an insight into Voldemort's inner circle. How the hell had this happened! How could she possibly want that scrawny, ugly, pompous little…

He became aware that the sounds behind him had taken on the shape of conversation. _That was quick_, he thought sourly.

Snape and Alice lay wrapped in each others' arms under thin covers. Moody watched the long narrow fingers as they slid absently though the thick, flaxen hair, and quietly seethed. Alice had her eyes closed, a small, peaceful smile playing on her lips as she rested her head on Snape's chest. Snape, however, was gazing into space with a troubled look in his eyes.

'I love you,' he whispered. Moody thought he could hear a "but" somewhere in that sentence.

'Mmmm,' murmured Alice in a contented voice.

'This is dangerous,' Snape said softly. Alice opened her eyes and looked up at him.

'Everything is dangerous right now, sweetheart,' she said, caressing his arm.

'No. What we're doing… we're going too fast. They're going to get suspicious if we're not careful.'

Alice rolled over so she was sitting on him, staring down into his face with an expression Moody couldn't quite make out. He suddenly realised the light had moved. It was blazing through the fanlight on the other side of the ceiling, when only moments before it had been sending its last rays slanting through the dormer window.

Snape's face relaxed, and he gently stroked his fingertips up Alice's spine. She sucked in a husky breath, arching her back and closing her eyes. She looked like a beautiful sculpture, picked out in profile by a bright sun in a room which was probably always in shadow.

'We can't tell Frank, can we?' whispered Snape.

Alice relaxed, and looked down at him with wry smile; was it Moody's imagination, or did the blue eyes glisten for a moment?

'No,' she replied softly. 'I hardly see him now anyway. We had so many arguments; now we just avoid each other most of the time. But what would be the point of telling him yet? We can't be together. Not until we've got all of them. The Lestranges are still out there somewhere; they're the worst. And I think there may be a traitor in our department.'

Snape's face suddenly went tight. 'Any idea who?'

She shook her head. 'No. But there's little inconsistencies in some of the paperwork. It's difficult to see until you start looking at everything together. But there's a pattern starting to come out, going back over a year.

Snape pushed himself up on an elbow, his other hand tightening on Alice's hip; Moody caught a glimpse of the Dark Mark

'You will be careful, won't you?' he said, tension in his voice. 'You're so good at what you do. If there is someone, they've got to know you're going to find them.'

Alice smiled, and there seemed a trace of hopelessness in her eyes. 'Careful?' she whispered. 'What difference does it make? Lily was careful.' Her mouth twisted suddenly, and Snape sat up, hugging her tightly as she began to cry, his eyes filled with pain. For a moment she clung to him, helpless with grief, then with an effort she pulled away, rubbing away the tears.

'We've got to do all we can, as fast as we can, to put them all in Azkaban,' she said, and her voice was suddenly harsh. She ran her fingers into Snape's hair and took a hold that made him gasp. 'Do you understand, Severus? There's no point being careful, we're never going to be free until they're all gone.'

Then she sank her mouth onto his in a vicious kiss.

* * *

Moody had seen enough. He sat back with a ragged breath, staring without seeing the now blank surface of the Pensieve.

Most of Snape's memories of Alice seemed to involve them shagging each others' brains out. But the recollections were all fused together into one long memory which, judging by the snatches of conversation, covered days, if not months.

He shook his head slowly, as if trying to dislodge this new, unwelcome information. Everything he believed about Alice was shattered; not only a revelation about her, but about himself. Had he really believed her so pure, so pristine? Had he idealised her in the light of her terrible fate? And was he the kind of person who needed those he loved to be pure, to be what he wanted them to be, in order to love them?

Moody centred on the question for a moment, considering it from another perspective. Was he incapable of loving someone if he didn't see them as justified in some way? He glanced across at Snape for a moment. He sighed. He didn't really have time right now for thinking about his own psychological hang-ups.

_Put the emotion away, Alastor, you need all your faculties. What was she telling Snape? … someone else in our department… going back over a year…_

Someone who knew how good she was and that she would find them.

Moody took some deep breaths. He needed to go back into the Pensieve and see what else Snape and Alice had talked about. He still couldn't grasp that they had been intimate. But his logical sense, still fighting to restore his mental peace, brought back an understanding that in certain circumstances, sometimes people did form unsuitable relationships. Associations based entirely on carnality were not an uncommon way of dealing with the kind of fear and horror that had been almost a way of life back then. Nothing like sex for true mental oblivion. But Alice…?

He got up to stretch himself a bit after spending so long hunched over the Pensieve, and went to look at his patient.

All the… action? … had taken place in the attic room he'd seen in Snape's last memory of his father. He sniffed primly. At least they'd had the decency not to do it in Frank's bed.

He began preparing the herbs he needed for another infusion of _vitalis_ with shaky hands, mashing them slightly too hard in the mortar. Snape shifted slightly. Dark eyelashes fluttered against the chalky skin, as if he was fighting his way back to consciousness. Moody's thin mouth twisted into a small, nasty smile.

Snape blinked at the ceiling, a dazed expression in his eyes. Moody began mixing the crushed herbs into a thin solution in a small metal jug, and looked down at him.

'How are we feeling today then, Mr Snape?' he enquired solicitously. Snape gave him a suspicious look. Moody smiled nastily.

'Very educational, some of your memories. I had to take a break. Lucky for me you were able to tell me how to get out when I wanted to. Well, lucky for you too, since you need feeding every three or four hours. You're a bit early for your next dose, but there's clearly still quite a bit for me to get through, so I thought it prudent to dose you up before I start.'

Snape said nothing, but his brow furrowed slightly. Moody put the jug on the bedside table, and reached into a box under it.

'Now you've been unconscious every time we've done this before, so you won't know what to expect. But let me assure you, that while it is a bit invasive, for people as severely injured and weakened such as yourself, it's the most effective method, and perfectly safe.'

He pulled out a funnel, a rubber tube, and a metal pipe six inches long. Snape's eyes widened.

'No,' he whispered weakly, 'that's not necessary, I can swallow…'

Moody leaned over him, his normal eye glinting furiously. 'You had Frank's wife, you depraved little bastard. What was she to you, some sort of bonus? You'd given up torture and murder and thought you'd try a different way of destroying people's lives?'

Snape blinked at him, his eyes suddenly unfocused and empty. Moody seized the blankets and yanked them down to his ankles in one sharp movement, then slid his arms under the wasted body and flipped him onto his stomach.

Snape flailed weakly at him, momentarily suffocated by the pillow before Moody wrenched it away. His head dropped to the mattress and Moody heard his teeth jar with the impact. He didn't care. He suddenly badly wanted to make Snape suffer, and the anger was pounding in his head so hard he almost didn't hear him speak.

'It was your fault.'

Moody froze, and his blood ran cold. He turned to look at him. Snape's head was twisted awkwardly on one side, and he was glaring up with a savage look of fury as intense as anything Moody was feeling at that moment.

'Alice and Frank,' Snape hissed. 'You didn't come. Alice said you had alarms which would let you know if anyone got inside their house. But you didn't come until it was too late. You stupid, useless old man.'

Moody stared back, and wanted to hit him. Wanted to punch him in the mouth as hard as he could. His breathing came fast and heavy as he struggled to push down his anger, and Snape glared back up at him, his good hand clenching and unclenching.

Moody closed his eyes and with a huge mental effort, clawed back his self-control. He turned away and focused on the process of administering the _vitalis_. But he felt only a small sense of satisfaction at the sound of Snape's strangulated yelp when he inserted the cold, hard metal pipe.

* * *

Moody sat in front of the Pensieve, glaring into its depths. Behind him, Snape lay sniffling and trembling on his back, the covers pulled to his chin, his good arm wrapped around his face. Moody ignored him.

He recognised the truth in Snape's accusation. The alarms had gone off far too late, and he had never been able to work out why. The shock of failing Alice and Frank had been the beginning of the end for his career as an Auror. Nobody blamed him, but he blamed himself. When the last of those wanted by the Ministry for their horrific attack had been tried and sentenced, Moody had retired.

Knowing Snape had never stood trial had been a thorn in Moody's side ever since. He had carried the memory of the boy's burning look of hatred ever since, convinced he had been as deeply involved as the Lestranges and Crouch. And now, fourteen years later… He shook his head again. The revelations of the Pensieve had derailed his theories and convictions utterly.

He hated Snape for what happened to Frank and Alice. And Snape hated him, for exactly the same reason. He ran through his own memories again: seeing the thick blood oozing like tar under the door; blasting it into non-existence to get in, and seeing… Snape holding the baby, his wand pointing at the child's head, glaring at Moody with indescribable hatred…

… because he hadn't saved them.

Moody turned his head towards the window without seeing it, frowning. Snape hadn't been there. He had arrived after the attack, but before Moody.

Snape had been in love with Alice. The baby she had lost in the attack… had been his, not Frank's.

And Moody hadn't saved them.

Moody swallowed, took some deep breaths. He picked up his wand and concentrated on the Pensieve. Concentrated on believing he had seen all the memories it contained of Alice and Severus making love.

The surface cleared, and Moody recognised the front door of number eighteen, Firkin Lane. He lowered his wand and entered Snape's memory of Saturday 15th May 1982.

* * *

Snape gazed at the door. It stood slightly ajar, a wedge of darkness in the orange light of the street lamp. He drew his black cloak more tightly around himself, and Moody saw that his left hand was tightly wrapped in a small white towel, a spreading stain of red just visible.

He reached his uninjured hand towards the door, then hesitated. For a moment he seemed frozen – then the colours began to change, taking on an odd quality, as if being viewed through yellow glass. He took a step forward – and his hand disappeared into the surface of the door. Moody followed closely, and watched in wonder as they passed through the heavy wooden door, through layers of different coloured paint, then wood grain, more paint… then out into the Longbottoms' hall.

The house looked just as Moody remembered it. The doors to the sitting room, dining room and kitchen stood open, the rooms beyond wrecked. Snape gazed around, his young face a mask. He drifted towards the stairs, and Moody felt the emotion start to rise, pushing at him. He let himself fall back slightly, and followed as Snape moved steadily through the silent house, until he found himself facing the nursery.

Snape gazed into the devastated room, and Moody felt the emotion build as he watched the mask begin to slip. The black eyes widened as they took in the smashed furniture, and he lurched forwards with a gasp at the sight of the overturned cot, the bloody towel falling unnoticed from his outstretched hands. Moody watched with a sombre expression as he pushed the cot upright, pulling apart the blankets, then feverishly began hunting through the wreckage until his shaking hands closed on something small and white.

For a moment, Snape knelt in the remains of the nursery in a silent paroxysm of grief, clutching the teddy bear in his bloody left hand. Then he surged to his feet, the colour rising his sallow face as a savage anger rose in his eyes. Moody followed him as he swept out and into the master bedroom.

No sign of anyone in here. Snape leaned on the door frame, his bleeding hand still clenched around the bear, and Moody watched his eyes narrow. All at once the scene changed. Everything was bleached of colour, then substance, until all Moody could see were outlines: all objects suddenly rendered transparent. It was a little like the view from his magical eye, except he could see colours and apparently Snape could not.

No sign of anyone in here either. Snape screwed up his eyes then opened them again, blinking rapidly. The scene returned to normal, and Moody noticed the yellowish tinge had also disappeared. Presumably that was Snape's ability to walk through walls gone as well, then.

Snape pushed himself away from the door and turned to face the last room of the house, that terrible room at the end of the passage. The door stood open, and he stared at it for a long time. Then he took a ragged breath and strode through it into the room beyond. Moody noted that there was no blood.

Alice lay under the window, gazing sightlessly upwards. Her infant son was sitting next to her, his podgy little hands bending her fingers around something. He made soft whimpering sounds as he did so, rocking slightly as he pushed at his mother's hand.

A tiny sound came from Snape. He swooped down to kneel beside them, and the little boy jumped up with a cry. He froze, shocked for a moment, then wailed and flung his arms around Snape's neck. Snape clutched the howling child to him, the teddy bear falling forgotten into the corner.

After a few moments, he shifted the little boy onto his left, oblivious of the blood he was smearing all over the child's clothes, and reached for Alice.

Alice blinked slowly, and Snape gave a gasp of relief. But Moody could see the damage was already done. The large blue eyes gazed vacantly into space, all signs of that wonderful mind gone forever. Her lovely blonde hair was turning white as he watched, and clumps of it had fallen out. Snape gave choking sob as his eyes scanned her body and saw the blood staining the skirt of her robes.

'… in here… I heard the child, I'm sure of it…'

Snape's head jerked up at the sound of voices, and the savage look returned to his eyes. Without taking his eyes off the door, he reached into his sleeve and withdrew his wand. He rose slowly, still holding the hysterical toddler, and aimed his wand at the child's head.

'_Imperio_,' he hissed.

The child's distraught cries subsided, a dazed look appearing in his eyes. Snape hefted him into a more comfortable position in the crook of his arm, and whispered in a soft, soothing voice:

'You are not afraid. Your mummy and daddy are asleep, and they are perfectly all right. They love you, very, very much. You will go to sleep and have lovely dreams.'

The little boy relaxed, put his thumb in his mouth and sank his head onto Snape's shoulder. Snape turned to face the door, an ugly expression on his face, wand ready. The door opened.

Two large, rough-looking men Moody had never seen before came in. Behind them, robes billowing, was a wizard who looked vaguely familiar. Tall, broad-shouldered, small blue eyes in a squarish face, and long, flowing silver hair and beard. He looked at Snape, and raised an eyebrow.

'Good morning, Severus,' he said mildly. Snape said nothing, the look in his eyes lethal. The man gave a thin smile.

'You're a little late. As you can see, we've finished with the Longbottoms. Sadly, they refused to tell us anything. Always possible that they really didn't know… but I doubt it. After all… here you are, aren't you?'

Snape took a slow breath, nostrils flaring. 'What do you mean?' he replied in a low, steady voice. 'What were you hoping they were going to say? I notice you haven't killed them. And you missed their son, didn't you? You couldn't have searched the house very carefully if a small child managed to escape you.'

The man chuckled, but there was a cold glint in his eyes. 'I was hoping they might divulge the identity of the one who was selling us out. But no. Impressive, really; other people have given way under much less encouragement than we gave them. The woman in particular took some breaking. And I knew there was something there she could tell us. But she held on until it was too late, far too late to save herself. She shielded you to the last, Severus.'

Snape's mouth suddenly twisted into a horrible, lopsided smile. 'So you know it's me, then, do you, Professor Lovelock? It's taken you long enough. Have you told the others yet, or are you waiting to make your big announcement and take all the glory yourself? Yes, that would be more your style, wouldn't it?'

Lovelock moved further into the room, flanked by the other two men. Snape backed away, wand held out in front of him, and they circled each other until Snape was standing in front of Frank.

'You know me, Severus. And I know you. Why shouldn't I take the glory of bringing you in? The others have no idea who our traitor is; why should I tell them and let them get you instead? No, this will be my pleasure. _Expelliarmus_!'

Snape's wand flew out of his hand and sailed into the shadows behind Frank. His eyes became wide, and Moody saw that faux-innocent, puppy-dog look fill them; he raised his empty right hand as if in supplication. Moody found himself back away towards the door, a sudden creeping premonition in his mind. Lovelock laughed joyously.

'Ah, Severus! You really are something, aren't you? If I didn't know better, I'd–'

A string of words in a language Moody didn't know came out in a guttural snarl, and for once, Snape's memory supplied no translation. They hit his senses like a rain of nails, sharp and painful, and he raised his arm defensively by reflex. When he lowered it, he saw exactly what he had expected to see.

The room seemed much bigger. It was still dark, but the shadows were fewer, because there were no longer any solid objects to deflect the orange light of the streetlamps outside. Snape, his hand still raised, glowered out of the darkness with a horrible look of triumph, and Moody shivered.

'_Accio_ wand! _Lumos_!'

Snape's wand flew into his hand, the tip alight and filling the room with a low light. It was just enough for Moody to see clearly the images of Lovelock and his two henchmen visible in the opposite wall as if painted there.

But this wasn't like that earlier memory, when Snape had cast this spell in a transfiguration class at the age of eleven or twelve. Moody could just make out movement. Lovelock was frowning in surprise, and the two men looked as if they were shouting. Unlike the children in Snape's class, these three were completely aware.

Snape transferred his wand to his left hand, and raised his right, the fingers outstretched. Moody watched the narrow fingers flex, casting giant shadows on the ceiling. Snape's eyes narrowed, as if concentrating. Then, like a cat extending its claws, the fingernails suddenly lengthened.

Moody drew a sharp breath. Snape, an expression of pure evil on his face, flexed his talons, and… Moody looked away. There was a sharp scraping sound, the tearing of paper, the crumbling of brick…

… blood gushed out of the wall and rained down on Alice, then spread like oil across the carpet. Moody stared at the blood as it oozed towards the door, hardly hearing the words Snape used to restore the room.

Then there was a mighty crash, and the door behind him disintegrated. Moody moved out of the way, in time to see Snape move back to face whoever was coming in; to see his dishevelled younger self standing in the doorway, wand outstretched, nothing but his travelling cloak thrown over his nightshirt.

Snape raised his wand – then slowly pointed it at the child in his arms.

'_Finite incantatem_,' he whispered, his lips hardly moving. The toddler awoke with a start, saw his mother lying motionless and covered in blood, and began to wail. Moody watched himself stare at Snape, and remembered the utter revulsion he had felt on hearing the child cry. Watched Snape, from a perspective so different from the one he had back then that he could have been a different person, as the young wizard's eyes narrowed on the Auror with visceral rage and hatred.

'Put the wand down,' he breathed in a deadly voice. Moody watched the struggle in his own eyes at the words, remembered how helpless he had felt, and how sure that he was about to die as he slowly obeyed; and his utter surprise, which he'd hidden, when Snape had handed over the screaming child and Disapparated.

The vision of Moody holding the Longbottoms' baby dissolved, and Moody saw that they were now in a dense wood. Snape stood motionless, and for a moment Moody thought he was going to pass out. Slowly he sank to his knees, eyes unfocused and empty.

The memory faded into grey, and Moody found himself sitting at the table in front of the Pensieve.


	29. Chapter Twenty Nine

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 29**

Moody stared at Snape as he lay in a restless sleep. The Pensieve had told him almost everything he wanted to know, and there was nothing else to be had. Anything else – like, how did Snape decide the Lestranges and Barty Crouch were guilty – would have to wait until Snape got his memories back and recovered enough to answer questions.

Moody considered the issue. Now his back was repaired, Snape was in much better shape than he had been. Blood pressure still a bit on the low side, but no longer dangerously so; and his heart was surprisingly strong. He came to a decision, and got out his wand.

'_Enervate_.'

Snape awoke with a start. Moody grabbed his wrist and checked the pulse. Yes, everything fine.

'Okay,' he growled quietly. 'I've finished with your Pensieve. I'm going to give you back all your memories, so brace yourself.'

Snape lay there looking apprehensive as Moody stumped over to the table. He checked his pocket for a vial of valerian, just in case the shock was too much, then picked up the Pensieve. He turned round and moved to the foot of the bed.

'Ready?' he asked.

Snape nodded.

Moody turned the Pensieve over. The contents swirled out in a fine mist, curling and twisting like smoke, then surged up the bed towards their owner. Snape's body stiffened as the silver fog engulfed his head, and Moody watched both hands clench on the bedclothes. He found himself drawn to the ghost hand, those long thin fingers ending in that impressive array of fingernails, currently sunk into the surface of the bed. And he'd thought they were mere vanity! In his head he replayed the moment when those talons had suddenly grown from the end of Snape's fingers and wondered how he'd done it. No normal human could do that – and physically, Snape was a normal human.

A normal human gasping with shock as if someone had just poured icy water over him. Snape lay wide-eyed and completely conscious, panting at the ceiling as the last of his memories returned to the inside of his head. Moody went over and peered into his patient's eyes, finally giving a grunt of satisfaction.

'Right,' he said. 'I'm going to see what the others are doing down in the kitchen. Then I'll be back. There are still questions I want to ask you, so use the time to get your head straight.'

* * *

Moody closed the bedroom door quietly, and glanced down with his magical eye. Two floors below him was the cavernous kitchen, and he could see a small group of people sitting around the end of the table. Kingsley Shacklebolt was talking animatedly, occasionally jabbing his forefinger at various sheets of parchment laid out in front of him. Dumbledore, Minerva, Tonks and Lupin sat in apparent silence, paying him their utmost attention. And in the corner, unnoticed… was a strange area of displacement.

Moody frowned, and concentrated his magical eye. The edges of the walls didn't quite match up properly. It was as if he was seeing that small section of the room through a block of glass.

He looked up and let his eye spin three hundred and sixty degrees. Snape lay in bed with his good hand over his face, shoulders shaking… Phineas Nigellus had suddenly reappeared in his frame… in the corner, inside the wardrobe, was the house-elf, back to normal and looking indecisive… through the wall, into Potter's room… no one there.

Moody drew himself up, stumped quickly along the corridor and shoved open the door of Harry's room. It was empty except for the owl dozing on top of the wardrobe; books and parchment were strewn across an un-made bed. Moody rummaged through the mess. A book in a foreign language was open, a mirror-like object carelessly lying across the two pages. In a glance, Moody was able to see that the device could render the pages readable in English, and that the pages in question told the reader … how to become invisible.

He took a moment to read down the page, then flicked through a few more. His normal eye narrowed in anger. Then it fell on the buckled roll of parchment, yellowing with age... and Moody gave an exclamation as he recognised his own report. He grabbed together all the pages, rolling them loosely before shoving them into his pocket. Then he picked up the huge old book and the translation device, and stormed back into Snape's room.

* * *

Severus pulled himself together with an effort. The blurry voids in his mind were closing as the missing memories untangled themselves and sank back into his consciousness. The shock was subsiding, and the iron bar of his self-control was rising through the confusion, something solid, a compass in the dark.

He skimmed through them all, images flashing past his mind's eye as he reviewed all that he had allowed Moody to discover. Dobby had done well in exacting that promise out of the silly old fool. He knew perfectly well that Moody would never let him go, however innocent he might be: so far as Moody was concerned, he was an irredeemably dark wizard and always would be.

But now Moody would have no choice. He had made a binding contract, with a magical creature vastly more powerful than himself, that he would let Snape go in exchange for everything in the Pensieve. The corner of Severus' thin mouth twitched into a manic, lopsided grin. So the stupid old man still had questions, did he? Well he was going to find himself unlucky!

Severus concentrated. The walls of number twelve, Grimmauld Place faded until they were visible only as pale outlines, a three-dimensional sketch of a building. Beyond them, the wards Dumbledore had placed on the house revealed themselves to him as a fine mesh of golden threads, laced around and through the substance of the walls, floors and ceilings, from the lowest foundations to the chimneys on the roof.

And there were the extra wards created by Alastor Moody. Thick, unsubtle black lines in a honeycomb pattern, knitted into the gold on the exterior wall, enclosing the room in a box-shaped cage. Severus focused harder, visualising his hand pushing against those black lines. They resisted, then began to buckle outwards. Almost there!

There was a crash as the bedroom door flew open. The sudden noise broke Severus' concentration, and he cried out as the wards suddenly snapped back. He blinked rapidly, trying to restore his normal vision. Then the ugly, scarred face of the old Auror was inches from his, the magical eye spinning madly, the normal one sharp and narrow with fury.

'What the hell were you thinking, giving that boy a book like this?' Moody thundered.

Severus shrank back into the pillow in one involuntary movement, and was immediately angry with himself for the automatic fear reaction. He responded with an icy glare.

'Who I choose to give my things to is no concern of yours,' he replied insolently.

Moody glowered. Then he shoved his large, rough hands under Severus' armpits and hauled him upright, roughly propping him into a sitting position against the headboard. Severus recoiled violently at his touch, but the old man was bigger than him, and much stronger.

'I've just seen what's in that book,' the old man growled. 'And I've seen some of it in practice in your memories. Okay, I'll admit you weren't there when Alice and Frank were attacked, but it makes you no less responsible, and no less a monster!'

Moody let him go, and Severus sagged against the wall, trembling. He struggled for composure and tried to speak; but the words wouldn't come out. Moody wasn't listening anyway.

'That young boy, with his connection to the Dark Lord, is currently down in the kitchen, listening to things he shouldn't, thanks to what's in that book you've given him,' he stormed.

The colour was rising in Severus' face, fury burning in his eyes. 'I have given him a book which tells him how to control his mind!' he raged back. 'I performed a dangerous spell to keep the Dark Lord out of his head! And I risked my very soul to save him from Dementors, after he had gone off on his own, when you lot had no idea where he was!'

Moody scowled. Severus leaned forward, resting his good hand on the bed, the anger forcing his breath out in sharp gasps. 'You think I'm a monster? he panted. 'Frank is dead because of you! How long did you wait before coming to find them? Your precious bloody alarms! Alice said you'd come! She believed in you, and you… you…'

His voice trailed off. Moody was watching him with narrowed eye, grim-faced but suddenly no longer angry; waiting. Severus swallowed, regaining his breath before continuing.

'She said there was someone else in their department,' he whispered, not taking his eyes off Moody's face. 'Going back a long way. And then they were attacked. Frank, somewhere far from home. They knew exactly where to find him.' Tears suddenly filled Severus' eyes; he couldn't stop them. 'He wouldn't break, so they brought him back and tortured his wife in front of him. But neither of them gave in. They endured unimaginable agony, and lost their minds… but they didn't give me up.' He began to sob, and the words were almost unintelligible. 'You sold them out. It was you… it was you…'

Moody watched him break down, and said nothing. Then he gave a grim sigh and came to sit on the edge of his bed, facing Snape's shuddering form.

'I don't know why my alarms didn't work,' he said distantly, his temper suddenly gone. 'I've never been able to work out why. I thought they went off too late – well, obviously they did. But what ultimately set them off was you and that obscene piece of dark magic. Not that I'm saying I wouldn't have done the same, in your place. But if you hadn't got there and done what you did, the alarms wouldn't have gone off at all.'

He another sigh, bitter and heavy. 'Not unreasonable, the suggestion that it was me who set them up,' he mused. 'Wonder if anyone else thought of that? Except I didn't know where Frank was that day. He'd risen through the ranks a bit since the time I brought him with me to Malfoy Manor. He no longer had to clear things through me. So, who knew where he was going that day?'

He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and threw it to Snape, who was starting to recover.

'Get a grip on yourself, I want to ask you a few questions. Then, if I like the answers, you can go.'

Snape, his face flushed and wet, glared round at Moody. 'No! You made a bargain: my freedom for the Pensieve. We kept our half of the deal – you keep yours. Or face the consequences!'

Moody gave him a thin smile, his normal eye glinting nastily.

'Go on, then,' he said. 'Leave, if you think it's as simple as all that. After all, you're quite right: I got the Pensieve, and I agreed to release the wards if it answered all my questions.'

A wild look had entered Snape's eyes.

'So, the wards should have already gone. Off you go, then!'

Snape gazed at him, then around at the room. Moody waited. Snape remained where he was.

'Now,' Moody growled quietly. 'There are a number of possible reasons why the bargain hasn't worked out the way you planned. My bet is that when your elf friend gave me my options, all he was thinking about was saving your life. But, coincidentally, that was my foremost concern as well. After all, you can't stand trial if you're dead. And that would mean that essential to the agreement is the proviso that you live. And if I believe – genuinely believe – that letting you go will lead to your death… the contract itself will help to bind you.

'Which brings you right back to the situation of waiting upon my good graces for your release.'

Snape looked as if he was about to cry again.

Moody shifted into a more comfortable position.

'Let's start with a few details regarding what you remember of the attack on Alice and Frank. What brought you to their house at that time?'

Snape leaned back against the wall, staring into space. 'You didn't watch everything in there, did you?' he said in a small, lost voice. 'Maybe that's why it hasn't worked.'

'Just answer me, Snape.'

Snape bit his lip. 'I gave Alice a necklace,' he whispered. 'A pendant in gold and red; Gryffindor colours. I made the whole thing, even the gold itself from ore, the glass from sand on the beach outside my father's house. Instead of a stone, I set a vial containing four drops of my blood.'

'Four?'

'One more than I give the demon.' Moody watched Snape's gaunt profile as he gave a shuddering sigh, and continued. 'I told her if she was ever in trouble, all she would have to do is hold the vial and think of me, and I would know, and would come to her.

'She wasn't wearing it when the Death Eaters came. They destroyed her because of me, and there was nothing I could do. Afterwards they left her and Frank for dead. After they had gone, Neville came out of his hiding place and put the pendant in his mother's hand.'

Snape closed his eyes, swallowing hard. 'He was there when I gave it to her. Who would think a child that age would understand so much?'

There was a long silence. Moody wondered if that part about the necklace had been in the Pensieve at all; yet, thinking of all the things that _had_ been there…

'All those memories of you and Alice together,' he said. 'Why did you remove those? If you really loved her, I'd have thought you'd have wanted to hang on to them in the event of a Dementor attack.'

Snape raised a trembling hand to his face, saying nothing. Tears crawled from the corners of his eyes to fall in a hot stream, and he turned away.

Moody watched him grimly. 'You couldn't bear to think of anything relating to her because you'd lost her forever. Yes?'

Snape nodded silently, clutching his face.

'And you had nothing to do with that attack?'

Snape made a croaky noise which Moody interpreted as "no".

'So how did you know the Lestranges and Crouch were involved?'

Snape sucked back his grief, momentarily hiding his face in the handkerchief. When he spoke, his voice was stronger.

'Neville saw it all. I looked into his mind and saw everything.'

Moody remembered the screaming child he had taken to St. Mungo's. They said they had needed to use some major memory charms on him to help him block out the memory of his parents' destruction. If only someone had been able to see what the child had seen! But the healers had told him there were signs the little boy's mind was already starting to repress large sections by the time he'd arrived.

That memory would have exonerated Snape and fingered the Lestranges, Crouch… and Lovelock.

'Professor Lovelock… that was a teacher from Hogwarts, was it?'

Snape nodded, red-eyed but calm once more. 'He taught Defence Against The Dark Arts. I never knew he was a Death Eater until I saw him there.'

Moody nodded thoughtfully. 'That spell you did which killed him… that was the full version of the thing that almost got you expelled in your first year, wasn't it?'

Snape nodded, his eyes suddenly guarded. Moody regarded him for a moment. The question on his mind wasn't entirely relevant, but… he had to know.

'Why did your father teach it to you, and at such a young age? I think it's one of the most vile pieces of magic I've ever encountered.'

'He didn't teach me it,' Snape whispered, no longer meeting Moody's gaze. 'I learned it by myself. He taught to read when I was very young, and I had a free run of all his libraries. He encouraged me to learn as much as I could, and I … I did.'

Moody sighed and gazed towards the window. Snape waited. 'Is that it? Is that all you wanted to know?'

Moody turned back and studied him beadily. What a mess. Skin and bone, clumsily shaved head, eyes pitted and staring in that battered, haggard face.

'No,' he replied. 'Why did you do yourself so much damage?'

'That is none of your business!' Snape retorted, suddenly animate. Moody smiled inwardly; he had touched a nerve. 'If there's nothing more about Alice and Frank –'

'You can go when I say, and not before; and if you want to go at all, you'll answer any question I put to you. If you're finding it difficult, I've got some _veritaserum_ which should help.'

Snape gave him the most conflicted look he'd ever received from a suspect under questioning; he was momentarily reminded of Lupin the day before. Moody smiled to himself again. _You want to tell me, don't you? Maybe we don't need potions, just a bit of direction_.

'What did you use? It reminded me of some sort of whip, several fronds, with maybe glass or bone plaited in to it. And you look as if you've been starving yourself for months. You really wanted to hurt yourself, didn't you?'

Snape glowered. Moody held the glare for a moment before continuing.

'There was some mention that you were in the middle of something when you rushed off to save young Potter from Dementors. And the wounds were fresh. What were you up to that meant almost killing yourself?

'If I let you go, you'll be going straight back to it, won't you? All my hard work wasted. And next time you might actually die. Before, I wanted you to live to face charges from the Ministry. I'm not entirely convinced that wouldn't still be a viable plan. But now I find out there's this thing about a demon you have to maintain. So I have to let you go. But if you die…?'

'I won't die,' breathed Snape. 'You don't understand what I'm doing –'

'So explain it.'

Snape seemed to be searching for the words, and when they came they were jerky and awkward, as if the effort was costing him a great deal.

'My first sacrifice came after I'd left the Dark Lord. I take the blood from my left hand – the same side as the heart. The same side as the Dark Mark. The demon… said my blood wasn't as pure as my father's. That I was a murderer and I… I belonged to him, and that through me he would be able to get back into the mortal world. The wound took weeks to heal.'

A desperation had crept into Snape's eyes and voice. 'I began hunting through my father's libraries for something to fix the damage I'd done. Then, a year ago, I found something I had been working on a long time ago; before my father died.'

'How did your father die?' Moody broke in, unable to restrain himself.

Snape stared at the bedclothes. 'Old age,' he mumbled. 'He was almost five hundred years old. He said he only lived as long as he did because he had to teach me what to do.'

There was a long silence. 'So, what was it you found, then?' Moody prompted.

Snape looked up under his brows, and for the first time Moody could see something more than the hooked nose to remind him of Anzori Snape. A slight slanting to eyes which were set more deeply than was at first apparent. Snape's black eyes glittered at him.

'Sacrifice has been made for over four thousand years,' he whispered. 'A contract sealed in blood, passed down an unbroken line; a never-ending curse upon the eldest son. But I thought I found a way out.

'We lived in England for a while. Father bought a house in the North of England, and we stayed there during the Christmas and Easter holidays, returning home for the summer break. There was an old church in the nearby town, next to the ruin of an abbey, high on a cliff. I used to go there, when I could.'

'Searching for the eye of God…' Moody growled.

Snape gave him a hard, bitter look. 'Do you think that funny?'

'Do you see me laughing?'

Snape looked away, folding his arms across his sunken chest, and stared back at down at his blanket.

'I believe that if I atone for the things I did, that God will give me the power to send the demon all the way back to hell,' he said flatly. 'No more sacrifices.'

Moody nodded, his expression grim and angry. 'You really believe that, do you?'

Snape said nothing.

'Your dad would have thought like that, wouldn't he?'

Snape closed his eyes. The ghost of his hand tightened on his arm, sinking into it.

'He was hard on you, wasn't he? Few words of praise, and a sound thrashing every time you stepped out of line.'

A dark flush rose in Snape's face, but he remained silent.

'Believe it or not, I am familiar with the belief system you claim led you to inflict these lethal wounds on yourself. It's a theme in many religions. Physical pain, material deprivation, "punishments" – to bring purity and redemption. Except they don't, Snape. They cleanse guilty consciences, but they don't change a damn thing, no matter how much you inflict on yourself in penance. You're as guilty when you finish as you are when you start.

'And deep down, I think you know that. That's why your digestive system has practically shut down: you've starved yourself so long, your gut is ready to start eating itself. It's why you almost bled to death on the moor, why I've had to pour _vitalis_ potion into you eight times a day.

'Because it doesn't matter how much food you deprive yourself of, or how hard you hit yourself and what with: it's not enough. Nothing can take away the things you've done.'

Snape gave a choking sob, his shoulders hunching as he sank his head down almost to his chest and covered his face with his hand. _Really missing all that hair now, aren't you?_ Moody thought spitefully.

'You're a self-deluded coward,' he growled mercilessly. 'You want to be punished? Give yourself up to the Ministry. But you won't do that, will you? Because if we go deeper into your motives, we'll find that all this has got nothing to do with punishment and redemption. It's about power.'

He heaved himself awkwardly to his feet, momentarily towering over Snape, and glared down at him. 'Your father hurt you, and made you feel helpless. Beating yourself is an attempt to rewrite what he did to you, to take back some sense of control. You dress it up in finer motives, but that's all it is.'

'No,' mumbled Snape, staring at him from between his fingers and looking confused, 'no, you're wrong –'

'Well here's an option for you to consider, Snape. You want to be punished? I'll do it. I'll hurt you as much as you want, and I won't leave a mark on you. And then you can run off home and do what you have to, conscience clear. How's that?'

Snape stared up at him, aghast. Moody smiled nastily, his normal eye glittering. 'Otherwise, you'll stay here with me until it's time to feed the demon again. Every seven years, wasn't it? Your hand was bleeding on the night Frank and Alice were attacked, fourteen years ago last March. That means you must have already made your sacrifice for this time round, doesn't it? You're mine for another seven years, Snape. Have a think about it while I'm gone.'

* * *

Severus lay curled on his side, good hand covering his face. The shocking conversation with Moody, coupled with the confusion generated by the sudden return of all his most painful memories, had left him feeling vulnerable and weak. There was a terrible pressure building up in his heart, and he wanted to scream, or cry – but, right now, he found himself unable to do either. Years of hiding his feelings, his vulnerabilities, had left him unable to express them easily. They disappeared into the depths of his mind, bottled up, out of reach until the pressure was too much, and then they exploded. Ironic, really, given his ability for Occlumency.

Moody was wrong. Oh yes, he had a point; he was, in many ways, quite correct. But he was quite wrong about Severus being deluded. A father like Anzori did not allow delusions. Rational thought, cause and effect, and the acceptance of responsibility. Those were the things which lay behind everything Severus did, and always would.

No. Severus had researched, and planned, and explored theoretical possibilities. And he had prayed.

Someone like Moody was incapable of understanding faith; there were no words available for him to make him understand.

Everyone thought it was all about who had the most power. Learn as many spells as you can, practise until you can do them without a moment's thought; gain, absorb, learn, grasp…

But there were things out there which would, by their very natures, always be more powerful. How could anyone hope to triumph?

By giving all your power to God from whom all power comes, and asking him to save you.

An old book in an old church next to the ruin of an abbey. Pages opened at random, towards the end. A man saying he would die, but conquer death and rise again, and lend his power to those who believed in him. Drink the wine, for this is my blood… whoever drinks my blood remains in me and I in him…

You accepted you were weak. That you knew nothing and understood less. That you were small, and worthless, and insignificant. And then… you offered what little you had to the most powerful thing out there, said, 'I am helpless and useless without you; give me your strength, for without it I am nothing'.

A blood sacrifice of such enormity that hell had irretrievably lost its hold on humanity. Death was overturned; the adversary brought low forever. Absolute redemption for anyone who wanted it, by the absolute grace of God.

The power to force the demon back had been there for two thousand years. And Severus had been the first Khvalibog to find it. How ironic, when they were named for the grateful prayers of those they had saved all those centuries ago: Praise to God!

Severus remembered the Dementor's hands closing around his throat. Forcing himself to put aside his power had taken almost all his effort, for he knew his faith was weak. Yet he also knew this could work: he had put it to the test when he faced Karkaroff, only a year ago. He'd had his wand in his hand, talked about the forgiveness of the Dark Lord, prepared to duel right up until that very last moment – when suddenly a voice spoke in his head. It wasn't like hearing an actual voice, it was more like the inner voice of his conscience; yet somehow separate, more definite, more distinct. _"Forgive, and ye shall be forgiven; fear not the one who can kill the body, but the one who can kill the soul."_ And at the moment when Karkaroff had uttered those deadly words, Severus had let his wand fall, held out his arms to certain death, and forgave Karkaroff his murder with all his heart. And the Killing Curse had rebounded on its sender.

But that was easy next to this. Severus had entirely believed that Karkaroff was no better than him, and the idea of trying out God's mercy had been an inspiration of a second. (And in retrospect, wasn't there something about not putting the Lord your God to the test?) Maybe that success had been some sort of fluke…

Believing himself forgiven of all the terrible things he had done was too difficult. Dimly came the subtle idea that maybe the problem was his own failure to forgive himself, the deep-seated belief that he was essentially unforgivable. So he had tried the old muggle ways of atonement, thinking that if he felt punished for his crimes, the concept of forgiveness would be easier. But, as Moody had said, no matter how much, how hard, how long, it hadn't been enough.

Now it was too late. Now was the test, and he could only hope his faith was strong enough.

The fear was overwhelming. He thought removing his bad memories would help, but if anything, it had made it worse. All those horrible emotions with no memories to underpin them – as the Dementor pulled him close and opened its terrible mouth, he thought he would go mad. His last prayer had been a silent scream of terror from the most primitive part of his brain: _save me, I'm scared!_ And, at that point of supreme hopelessness, misery and despair, came…

… a golden, shining moment of utter peace. He was loved. He was forgiven.

The power of God filled his wasted body and surged into the Dementor. His soul watched, consumed with joy as the dark creature disintegrated in the Glory; watched as tiny points of silver light shot away from the shards of darkness. All those souls the monster had eaten were free at last.

As the light faded he felt his body draw him back. He yielded willingly, vaguely aware that it seemed to be dragging him down further than it should. As he sank deeper into darkness, it crossed his mind that perhaps he had gone to far in his efforts to atone; and then he saw his father.

'Severus,' Anzori said; and the hard face was smiling, eyes filled with warmth and love. 'I am very proud of you. Hold on; don't let go. I'm coming to get you.'

* * *

And there we have it: the second chapter I meant to post on Friday and didn't, plus one of the two I was planning to post next week. Thank you very much for the reviews! (Yes - making Sev evil as a final twist would have been something, but I've had the whole story mapped out for over a year now, and that was never part of it. Also, I don't think it's actually supported by canon, so far, anyway.)

Two weeks til the Half-Blood Prince!

S.

July 3rd, 2005


	30. Chapter Thirty

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 30**

Moody sat at the table and brooded at the Pensieve without really seeing it. Snape was asleep, curled on top of the covers. Another hour before his next dose. Time to think, to try and make sense of everything reeling through his brain. If Moody's world had seemed to turn sideway with the revelations of the Pensieve, it was nothing to how he felt after his earlier conversation with Dumbledore.

The meeting in the kitchen had ended shortly after he arrived. Lupin had taken Harry back up to his room; Tonks and Shacklebolt had returned to the Ministry. Minerva had gone to visit Snape; Moody already knew he would never tell her the truth about Alice's lost baby. She hid it well, but Minerva's grief was as raw as his, and unlike him, she cared just as much about Snape as she did about Alice and Frank. It was unfair, he felt, that he couldn't feel the same way, now he knew the truth. But long held beliefs took some unseating, and Moody knew he would need time to come to terms with everything he had learned in Severus Snape's Pensieve.

Albus Dumbledore had remained where he was as everyone left. Moody settled himself in a chair opposite, and together they waited until the door was closed and the sounds of the others had disappeared before speaking.

'How was your journey through Severus' memories?' Dumbledore enquired in a cool voice. Moody regarded him thoughtfully.

'It was very interesting,' he said eventually. 'It may please you to know that I intend to let him go, having satisfied myself that he was innocent of the attack on the Longbottoms.'

_Even if it was because of him they had fallen_, he added silently. Did that still make it his fault? In a way, it did. But by that reckoning, was it any less the fault of Alastor Moody? Snape thought it so, on both counts. But he wasn't looking for revenge, or even absolution for its own sake. Moody found himself unsure of what that realisation meant, and put the thought aside.

'I've returned him his memories, and he seems to be making an excellent physical recovery,' he continued. 'I'm not too sure about his mental state, however.'

Dumbledore nodded slowly, his gaze trained on the table. Moody watched him, suddenly aware of how old the Headmaster looked, worn out and in need of peace.

'I failed them, you know,' Dumbledore said quietly.

Moody frowned. 'No you didn't,' he replied bluntly. 'What makes you think you did?'

Dumbledore gave a tired smile. 'Severus was bullied mercilessly at school, and I never noticed. It forced him into unsuitable company and down a path he would never have taken, had he truly known where it led.'

Moody waited, but no more came; so he asked. 'Why didn't you notice? Not just you, but Minerva as well.'

Dumbledore closed his eyes. 'Severus has always been a closed book to me. In all the time I have known him, since he was eleven, I have never had the slightest idea what he is thinking unless he tells me. All the times I have spoken to him about his fights with James and Sirius, and I had no idea now deeply it was affecting him. He always fought back so well, and was quite as defiant as either of them.'

Moody nodded thoughtfully. 'Well it's clear he's extremely powerful, and has been from an early age. He's intelligent and he's taught himself a great deal. And he actively plays on other people's assumptions about him. So you can hardly blame yourself if you misunderstood him.'

Dumbledore gave a shaky laugh, and Moody felt a slight chill. He could not remember a time when Albus didn't seem entirely in control of himself; now he seemed almost on the brink of despair.

'I didn't believe him, Alastor,' Dumbledore whispered. 'He warned me Harry was in danger from Quirrel, and I didn't believe him. Not until it was almost too late did I realise he was right. He told me he believed there was something wrong with you while the impostor was teaching my students in your place – and I didn't believe him.'

'Yet you believed him about the Lestranges and Crouch?' Moody probed quietly. A chunk of conversation seemed to have gone missing somewhere in Dumbledore's answers, but he let it go. There was something badly wrong here somewhere, and he realised he would have to be patient if he wanted to know what it was.

'Oh yes,' Dumbledore replied. 'Severus was devastated by what happened to Frank and Alice. He risked everything to save them both, and then at the last he failed them.'

Moody's frown deepened. 'Do you really think so?'

Dumbledore gazed at him with equanimity. 'I believe that Severus regards himself as having failed them. He was so distraught when he came to us, sixteen years ago, so determined that he should be punished for his crimes, and desperate to save an innocent child. How else would he regard their attack, but as his failure?'

'He was in love with Alice Longbottom!' Moody burst out, unable to stop himself. 'This wasn't just some selfish sense of failure…' he broke off. The expression on Dumbledore's face hadn't altered, but a void had suddenly opened up in the depths of the bright blue eyes.

'Severus plays on people assumptions about him,' Dumbledore murmured softly, and his voice held only the slightest tremor. 'Yes, that would make sense. So much easier to lie about what you really are when you simply allow people to believe what they want. Was Alice in love with him?'

Moody looked at him. He could have bitten out his tongue for telling Dumbledore about Alice and Snape; but there was nothing he could do about it now.

He considered the question carefully. No point avoiding the truth now; but what did he really think? Memories were subjective; people remembered the things they wanted to and tried to avoid the things they didn't. And particularly unpleasant memories could be repressed altogether. Was Alice's love for him something Severus remembered because he wanted it to be true?

No. He remembered, now he put his mind to it, that Alice had been unhappy for ages after she returned to work. And then one day she had been so very happy, and Moody had assumed she and Frank had made up their differences. It had been shortly after their first big arrest based on the new, accurate information that had suddenly surfaced from somewhere. But now he knew where that information had come from, and if he thought hard and carefully about it, he did recall that Alice's joy had not been shared by Frank.

If anything, selective memory was what he, Moody, was guilty of, not Snape.

'Yes,' he replied simply.

'Severus is a good man,' said Dumbledore in the same quiet, distant voice. 'He's a better man than I am, Alastor.

Moody opened his mouth to say something, but Dumbledore began to speak, and the need to unburden himself was unmistakeable.

'When James and Lily were killed, who mourned them? The night they died was marked by celebrations – because Voldemort was gone, defeated by their infant son. Who cared that two young people, barely out of childhood themselves, had been murdered? Who cared that their orphaned son would grow up in a family which hated him and everything about him? What did any of us care, except that the Boy Who Lived had defeated Voldemort, and might well do so again?'

Moody said nothing. He listened, more intently than he had ever listened to anyone.

'I returned Harry his father's invisibility cloak in his first year at Hogwarts, and it was instrumental in allowing his first encounter with Voldemort. How proud I was of him when he triumphed! But Severus was horrified. He said that I had allowed him the means to get into terrible trouble; that he could have easily died. But he had already survived certain death, I told him; and one day he would have to face Voldemort. I wasn't risking Harry's life; I was preparing him. And he had proved himself immensely worthy: why should we assume he would necessarily die? So I told myself, refusing to look at the point Severus was making.'

'Which was?' Moody interjected.

'That risking the life of a child made us no better than Voldemort. I argued that the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few; how many children would we save?'

Moody said nothing. Another boy, wanted only by those who supposedly cared for him, because the sacrifice of his life might save theirs. Yes, he could understand how Snape would have been horrified.

'In the Department of Mysteries two months ago, I faced Voldemort in battle. We duelled, and he was weak; and then suddenly I had the chance to kill him. Kill him, and end the war before it began, saving untold lives.

'And I did not do it. Because killing Voldemort meant killing Harry. He had possessed him, and tried to trick me into killing him, thinking that if I killed Harry, he would be free. But what he did not realise is that the link between himself and Harry is so profound that, should one of them possess the body of the other and that body should die, then he will die also.

'Until I pointed my wand at Harry and knew that killing him would destroy Voldemort for good, I thought I could actually do it. In that final moment, I realised I could not.'

Moody felt something in his brain disconnect; for a moment he felt as if he were floating. Dumbledore suddenly seemed so very far away.

'In the days that followed, I finally understood something else Severus had been trying to tell me, something that he had quietly suspected for a while and which he felt had been confirmed during those events in the Department of Mysteries.

'At moments of extreme emotion, Harry and Voldemort are joined, just as they were when Voldemort possessed him. And, at any of those moments, killing Harry would also kill Voldemort. And vice versa.'

Moody stared at Dumbledore in disbelief, his heart thudding. 'Do you seriously mean that… killing Harry is all it takes to kill Voldemort?'

Something dark flamed in the depths of Dumbledore's eyes. 'Under certain conditions, yes. And those conditions were met when Voldemort possessed Harry. Those conditions are also met whenever a channel opens between Harry's mind and that of Voldemort, something which, as Severus realised, was happening with increasing frequency. The means to kill Voldemort is in our hands.'

Moody was silent, his mind reeling. If he had ever wondered why such a powerful wizard as Snape had not challenged Voldemort himself, this was surely the answer.

But if the wizarding world ever got the idea that killing Harry Potter would destroy the Dark Lord once and for all… the boy's life would be over. And Albus… actually considered killing a child…?

He looked at Dumbledore, his oldest friend, with a sense of terrible grief.

'Snape ran away,' he growled, 'to cast a spell to make sure those conditions were never met. And we broke it.'

* * *

Severus opened his eyes and found himself gazing at the ceiling, the covers drawn up to his chin. The room was becoming dark, and he realised he must have slept for several hours, although it felt like only a moment since he closed his eyes. He caught a sound, just to his right, and turned his head.

Alastor Moody closed the heavy, leather-bound book he had been reading, and gave Severus a shrewd look.

'Are you awake, now?' the old wizard asked, and his voice seemed much gentler than it had earlier. Severus gazed back, feeling empty and defeated. Moody came to sit on the edge of his bed, shuffling awkwardly so he could get his wooden leg into a comfortable position. The magical eye spun madly, until the blue was no longer visible. Severus was momentarily fascinated, and allowed himself to wonder, irrelevantly, if it had been painful, enlarging the eye socket to accommodate that massive orb. The normal eye fixed him with a penetrating stare, and Severus' mental defences automatically slid into place. Moody's ugly face arranged itself into what Severus decided must be as close as he could get to a smile.

'Definitely feeling better, eh? You'll be pleased to know I've already given you your latest dose. So, nothing to interrupt the rest of our interview.'

Severus turned back to the ceiling.

'You just don't give up, do you?' he whispered.

'No. Stubborn, me.'

Severus felt his lip curl contemptuously in an automatic movement. 'The word should be "stupid". '

No answer.

Severus turned towards Moody, and was caught by the look in the normal eye. The anger and hostility had gone, and something else had taken their place, an expression he could not identify.

'Something I want to say, before we go any further,' the old man said gruffly. 'Severus Snape: I apologise to you, absolutely, for any belief I may have had that you were guilty of any wrong-doing after you left the Dark Lord. I apologise for any injury or distress I have caused you, and freely offer you, from now on, any gift of friendship you may need or wish.'

Severus stared at him, stunned and speechless.

Moody looked away from him suddenly, his normal eye glittering.

'I've been wrong about a lot of things,' he muttered. 'I can only hope I haven't done too much damage.'

He turned back, and met a piercing gaze from Snape. He gave a small smile. 'Don't try your mental tricks on me, lad,' he said. 'You're more powerful than I ever was, but I've been a wizard far longer than you, and I'll always know a few things you don't. Power's no good if you don't know how to use it.'

Severus turned his gaze back to the ceiling.

Moody sat down on the edge of his bed and rested his hand on Snape's other side so they were facing each other.

'That spell you cast on Potter, to keep the Dark Lord out,' he said. 'Any plans to try it again? It was the combination of that and your "atonement" that almost killed you. And I had to break it in order to save your life and Potter's.'

Severus gave him a ferocious glare. 'You stupid, ignorant old man!' he hissed. 'YOU were the one who almost killed me! If you hadn't been there, Dobby would have taken me home and I would have healed myself! But you had to get in the way and wreck everything!'

Moody's normal eye narrowed. 'What do you mean? You can heal yourself? Why haven't you, then?'

'Because your bloody wards are in the way!' Severus spat. 'They cut off my connection to the outside world, and thus to my father's house. I have no inherent power to heal – it's the house– '

'But that didn't work on your hand, you said it bled for weeks–'

'That's different! That didn't heal because the demon was keeping it open.' Severus gave a small gasp, as if the sudden anger had taken all his energy. Moody stayed where he was, thinking about what Snape had said.

'Your fingernails…' he mused. 'They're short normally, but your ghost has long nails. In Frank's house you made them grow like cat's claws.'

'I made them heal to the length I prefer to have them,' Severus said in small voice, looking miserable. 'Not really practical for school.'

Moody nodded slowly. 'So… when I release you… you'll heal? And go back home to finish whatever you were doing.'

Severus swallowed and turned back to face him. 'Yes.'

Moody sat back. 'Okay then,' he said thoughtfully. 'But I want you to take this book back with you. Potter's too fragile to be offered this kind of magic.'

A burning look appeared in Severus' eyes. 'So you noticed, then?'

Moody raised an eyebrow.

'Your stupid obsession with me, when there's someone under your nose who needs your help. That boy has been through hell, and none of you give a damn, do you?' From somewhere deep inside, swallowed and forgotten about, some stray part of Harry's grief and loneliness welled up in a bubble of self-pity. He burst into tears and turned his head aside as a wave of misery shook him head to toe.

Moody watched silently at him for a while. 'Don't worry about Potter,' he said quietly. 'I'll make sure he's all right.'

'He needs a family who care about him, who love and support him…' Severus sobbed.

'Yes,' murmured Moody, getting up and moving to the end of the bed. 'And if you'd had those things, you'd have never turned to the Dark Lord, would you?'

Severus raked back his self-control with an effort. 'No,' he glowered. 'And Potter could go the same way I did. Kill one dark lord and another rises up. How bad was Grindelwald?'

Moody gazed down at him, and concentrated. The pattern of his wards revealed themselves to him, and he withdrew his wand. 'Severus Snape,' he said, and touched his wand to the oldest node in the web which bound his prisoner, 'you are free to go.'

Severus took a deep, shuddering breath, then sat up in one fluid motion. He met Moody's gaze with a look of defiant triumph, then flung back the bed clothes and stood up. He swayed on his feet for a moment, as if he had got up too fast, his wasted body slightly hunched. Then, as Moody watched…

… the papery skin began to moisten and expand, swelling until the bones were hidden by a healthy layer of flesh. He straightened up slowly, and as he did so, Moody could see sinewy muscle stretch and flex in the long arms and legs; he raised his arms over his head and stretched a body that was lean, athletic and strong.

There was a moment of stillness. Severus turned slowly to face Moody, and there was a look of triumph on a face that was no longer gaunt, but sculpted and somehow younger. Snape took a deep breath, rubbing the long fingers of his good hand across his shaven scalp – and black hair began to grow, flowing like water out of his head until it hung in a glossy cloak down to his waist. Moody gazed in silence at the transformation. Only one thing was missing.

'What about your arm?' he asked. 'Don't you want that back?'

Severus raised both arms and flexed his fingers, long-nailed once more, one flesh and one spirit. 'Not yet,' he said quietly.

'I'd still like to discuss one or two things with you before you go,' said Moody quietly. Severus picked up his book and sat down on the bed. He looked at Moody through a glossy veil of oily hair, and said, 'Yes?'

'That spell you cast on Potter is broken. Without it, he's vulnerable to the Dark Lord; and, according to Albus, anyone who finds out it might be possible to kill the Dark Lord by killing Harry at a point when their emotions join their minds.' Moody stared deep into Severus' inscrutable eyes and wondered how much he should say.

'The Headmaster and I have often disagreed about Harry Potter,' Severus said softly, looking down at the cover of his father's book. 'I thought he should have protected him more. Instead, he allowed him to flout rules, and do what he pleased, and risk his life wantonly at every opportunity.

'I told him I thought him cruel and irresponsible. That no child should bear the responsibility he seemed to think he owned; that he had lived quite safely in the muggle world and could go on doing so, and that bringing him to Hogwarts would put him into danger. After he almost died fighting the Dark Lord at the end of his first year, I felt entirely vindicated in my belief. So vindicated that I tried to stop him returning for his second year.'

'How?' Moody asked.

Severus gave a small laugh. 'By using what was left of my influence over the Malfoys' house-elf to find some way of keeping him getting to Hogwarts. We almost succeeded. Dumbledore was furious with me.

'Until a few months ago, I believed that Dumbledore was entirely prepared to sacrifice Potter for the cause. So many people do terrible things because they think it's for the best.' Severus' voice suddenly seemed small. 'I did terrible things because I thought it was for the best. But when the chance came, when the opportunity to bring down the Dark Lord came at precisely the price I feared – he weighed up the pros and cons and chose not to become a murderer.'

Severus turned his head and caught Moody unawares with a sharp, penetrating look. There was a moment's silence, then he said, 'You thought Dumbledore seriously considered murdering the innocent. I spent years thinking he would. And we were both wrong. Potter has nothing to fear from Dumbledore.'

Moody said nothing for a moment. He had actually felt Severus sweep through his mind, like a cool sharp blade passing straight through his brain. It had not hurt and had been over in seconds, but it felt as weird as hell.

'What about the rest of the wizarding world?' he managed at last. 'If anyone ever works out…'

'They won't,' Severus replied sharply. 'No one else knows, or understands, what's going on. And Potter has now finally mastered the necessary skills at Occlumency to keep the Dark Lord out.'

He rose to his feet wearing a severe expression, the huge book clasped against his chest.

'Potter needs a father,' he said. 'He needs someone to trust and confide in, someone who will guide him. Not someone who sees him as their saviour.'

Moody nodded. 'That can be arranged,' he said. 'But what about you? There's no need to run any more. Shacklebolt's going to tell everyone I'm a mad old bat, you're innocent and that he's arresting someone else. I missed the part when he told us who, but after fourteen years I think I can manage a couple more days.' He gave Severus another shrewd look. 'I'm sure you're just as interested as I am.'

Severus' eyes were momentarily blank. Then he drew a long breath, his eyes narrowing on something Moody couldn't see. 'Yes,' he replied in a preoccupied voice. 'But there's something I have to do first.'

And in the next moment he had vanished.


	31. Epilogue

**The Other Side Of The Dark: Epilogue**

Harry sat alone in his room, brooding into the silence. In less that thirty minutes' time, he would be sixteen.

He went to lean on the window sill, and gazed out of the grimy window. In the two weeks or so since Snape had left, he had begun making reasonable progress with Occlumency. Lupin and Moody were both helping him, and Dumbledore's book wasn't bad.

He wondered what Moody had done with the book Snape had given him. He had taken away both book and translator, and given Harry a very long lecture about dark magic in return. Harry assured him he had only learned the thing about invisibility; he hadn't owned the book long enough to read much else. It was the truth, but Moody hadn't seemed entirely convinced.

Being invisible had been fun. And the meeting he had infiltrated had been very illuminating, although he had got there too late to hear any names. Apparently, Kingsley Shacklebolt had discovered a spy in the Ministry. This person had been there for almost twenty years, and Shacklebolt had assembled a compelling set of evidence to show that this person had been instrumental in setting up the attack on the Longbottoms' fourteen years ago. The primary culprit had been Rookwood, a Ministry employee convicted on Karkaroff's evidence of actively passing information to Voldemort and his followers. Shacklebolt admitted it was unclear if this other person's involvement was due to loyalty to Voldemort, or simple jealousy of Alice Longbottom, but either way, it didn't really make much difference. He had more than enough evidence to make an arrest.

After that, rescinding the arrest warrant for Snape would be easy. The only evidence against him was Moody's report, and since Moody was widely regarded as being mad, his report could be safely buried. As for Fudge seeing Snape's Dark Mark the year before… Fudge had suffered an almost catastrophic loss of credibility in the last couple of months. Shacklebolt grinned, and said he doubted anyone would be taking Fudge very seriously for much longer.

And then Moody had arrived, and after a few pointed remarks about leaving Ministry reports lying about where anyone could find them, ordered Harry out of his corner and into the visible world.

Harry sighed. It had almost been frustrating that no one was angry with him; he could have enjoyed a nice shouting match with someone. Dumbledore had only chuckled, and even Moody had looked slightly impressed.

And then the meeting had broken up. Tonks and Shacklebolt had left, and he had been herded back to his room by Lupin, who hadn't stayed. Moody and Dumbledore had spent ages downstairs, then later Moody had returned alone to Snape's room. There had been a long conversation, but try as he might, Harry had been unable to hear anything through the wall. A couple of days later he had learned that Snape had gone.

So that was that. End of story. Harry felt oddly deflated and depressed. Not passionately miserable anymore, that was gone forever. He was just tired and fed up.

He sighed again, and turned away from the window – and let out a yelp of shock. There in the shadows stood a tall figure, robed and cowled in black.

* * *

Harry realised who it was, even as the man lowered his cowl. 'What are you doing here?' he said sulkily.

'I came to see how you were progressing with your Occlumency studies,' Snape murmured, and glided over to stand next to Harry at the window.

Harry gazed stonily at his profile. Snape looked exactly as he had the last time Harry had seen him at Hogwarts – as if the whole episode of his stay at Grimmauld Place had never happened. He stared over his enormous nose up at the stars, the long greasy hair hanging limply to his shoulders, and Harry remembered for a moment how he had looked in the dream world. Then suddenly the cold black eyes had fixed him with an icy stare. 'Well?' said Snape haughtily.

Harry sighed and leaned his elbows on the window sill so he didn't have to look at Snape. 'It's okay,' he mumbled.

'Only okay?'

Harry glanced sideways with a puzzled frown, and saw Snape gazing at him with an expression Harry had never seen on his face in the real world. There was something jarringly inconsistent about Professor Snape giving him such a look of sympathy.

Harry turned away, nonplussed – and suddenly found himself talking. The words slipped out without his permission, about how he was trying hard with Occlumency and seemed to be getting somewhere, but that Lupin seemed to treat him like a young child, and Moody kept giving him funny looks and asking if he felt all right. That he had a nagging sense of failure he couldn't shift, and he didn't quite know why, and that every now and then his temper would flare up uncontrollably and he worried it might be giving Voldemort a channel into his brain. That he missed his friends and wished he could get in touch with them, but he'd been warned against owling anyone in case it drew attention to the house.

He subsided at last, and rested his chin on his arms, suddenly profoundly depressed. He felt a slight pressure of someone's hand on his shoulder, found himself shuffling sideways until he was leaning against the man standing at his side…

… felt a warm blanket of comfort envelope his mind, just as it had in the dream world.

He took a tremulous breath, and looked up. Severus gazed down at him, compassion in the deep dark eyes, and Harry noticed his face had changed: a slight rearrangement of the features that suddenly put his nose into proportion with the rest of his features, giving him an aquiline profile, strong and noble if not actually handsome.

'Moody told me you had managed to achieve invisibility,' Severus murmured. 'Is that true?'

'Yes,' Harry replied. He moved a little closer, and felt Severus' arm around his shoulders tighten, drawing him in. It was bliss. He couldn't remember any time in his life when he had felt so safe, so at peace. Even the view out of the window seemed nicer.

'Then you've learned all you need to in order to become a successful Occlumens,' Severus replied. 'It is precisely the same discipline, but carried a step further. Instead of hiding just your mind, you are hiding your mind and body. The measure of true success is when you can do it without effort.'

'Then why do I feel like such a failure?' Harry asked, and felt the sense of comfort slide. The long fingers squeezed his shoulder.

'You blame yourself for your godfather's death,' Severus whispered. 'Yet it was not your fault.'

'It was,' Harry whispered back. 'If I had worked harder at Occlumency, if I'd come to you, if–'

'No. He died because he was murdered by Bellatrix Lestrange. Your actions were irrelevant to that outcome, because any situation where the two of them were together would have resulted in the death of one of them.'

Harry felt the pressure on his shoulder increase, pushing him around until he and Severus were facing each other. He gazed up into the face of this stranger and a rush of thoughts tumbled through his mind. He realised that what he really wanted was someone who understood what he was going through, not because he was reading his mind, but out of mutual sympathy; someone who could give him some sense of direction. But that person was gone forever. And the dark eyes filling his gaze drank in every wisp and strand of his turmoil, and understood.

'If you could see him one more time, what would you say to him?'

It was a ridiculous question. Harry would never see him again, and his anger rose in a sudden tidal wave. 'What difference does it make?' he shouted. 'What the hell did you come back for anyway?'

Severus drew back, his hand raised palm outwards; a long white scar trailed its length from wrist to forefinger. 'I came to show you the other side of the dark,' he whispered, and turned away.

Harry froze. There was still a dim light, but it was no longer cast by the street lamp. His feet were cold; he realised he was no longer standing on the thinly carpeted floor of his room in Grimmauld Place, but on a plane of rock; dark, striated, shot through with narrow veins of crystal. He looked around and saw that he was standing in a vast stone cavern, the walls as sheer as the floor. Only the shadows gave shape to the distant perimeters, and these were created by numerous small oil lamps, placed apparently at random around the carven floor.

Of Snape there was no sign, and Harry cast about him wildly, searching for a way out. But there was nothing but the endless shadows stretching in all directions. Terror hit him like a sack of wet sand, and he fell to his knees with a choking sob of fear.

'Harry! Harry, is that you? Wait there, I'm coming!'

Harry's heart was suddenly in his mouth. He got up, turning slowly in the direction of the voice, hardly daring to believe. It couldn't be true – but no… there he was. Long black hair streaming around a face that would never be ugly, the man was running as fast as he could, his footfalls solid and heavy, his breathing ragged with exertion… real… breathing… alive.

And then in the next moment, Sirius Black had barrelled into him with a delighted shout, sweeping him up into a bear hug as if he was a small child.

'Harry!' he cried as Harry tried to catch his breath, 'I've been so worried! After Bellatrix hit me, I lost sight of you completely… I feared the worst…'

'I'm fine,' Harry gasped. Sirius held him tightly for a moment in silence, then thrust him at arms' length with a look of delight and relief. For a moment they just stared at each other; Harry's mind was blank. So much he wanted to say… but where to begin?

But the look on Sirius' face forestalled him. The look of joy was starting to wane, and there was strange look of desperation in his godfather's eyes.

'Harry… Harry, I've failed you. I am so sorry! I've let you down completely. You could have been killed, and I was enjoying the fight with Bellatrix. Now I can't do anything at all to help you, and it's all thanks to my own stupidity. I'm so very, very sorry.'

Harry gaped at him. 'No you haven't,' he said faintly. 'You're not stupid, you haven't let me down. It wasn't your fault, it was mine! If I hadn't come to the Department of Mysteries, you wouldn't have–'

His voice choked on the word "died".

Sirius was shaking his head. 'No, no, no,' he whispered, clasping Harry's face in one large hand; and all Harry could think was: he's real. He reached out and put his hands on his godfather's shoulders, and Sirius pulled him into another suffocating hug.

'Is this real?' he mumbled into Sirius' chest. Held this close, he thought he could hear Sirius' heart beating inside a body that was warm and solid; but he remembered how real Snape's last illusion had been. He drew back, a bitter sense of disappointment starting to rise.

Sirius knelt in front him, gazing up into his face. 'Yes, Harry,' he said quietly. 'This is completely real.

'I fell through the Veil while fighting Bellatrix. And now I'm dead, according to Snape.'

Harry stared at him. 'Snape?'

Sirius nodded with a wry smile. 'Snape always did know more about the Dark Arts than anyone else. And he has a few extra talents than most of us have.' He broke off, shaking his head, and continued in a wondering voice, 'I don't feel any different, and yet everything seems so much is clearer than before.'

He looked back up at Harry. 'Snape thinks I tried to kill him.'

Harry nodded dumbly.

'I didn't mean to. I'd got so used to Remus, all those times we all spent together, I guess I forgot that … well.' Sirius's voice trailed off, and he looked almost abashed for a moment.

'But what difference would that make now?' Harry asked.

'I never apologised. Well, I was never sorry. James was a hero who saved the day, and I was expelled for it, so I'd have thought that would have been the end of it.'

'You were expelled?' Harry exclaimed.

Sirius nodded. 'Yeah, well, I was tired of school anyway. And I deserved it.' A dark look crossed his face. 'So yeah, I have a debt …, and Snape used it to call me back now.' He gazed up into Harry's eyes. 'And I am sorry, Harry. I'm sorry I let you down. And I'm more sorry than I know how to say for what I did to Remus.'

Harry stared at him. 'What do you mean?' he whispered.

Sirius bit his lip. Harry could sense that there was something he desperately wanted to say, but it was very, very hard.

'I set Snape up,' he whispered eventually. 'I let him find out where Remus was going every full moon. If James hadn't stopped him getting there, he would have been attacked by Remus in his werewolf form.'

He took a deep breath. 'I never believed he would have died. I was always so sure of it; of course, now I know he wouldn't; Remus would have. But I didn't really know it, back then. I created a situation that could have killed someone.'

'But he didn't get hurt, my dad saved him!' Harry interrupted. 'And he owed him his life, and that's why he's always tried to protect me–'

Sirius looked up sharply. 'No,' he said, in such a definite tone that Harry was immediately silenced. 'It wasn't Snape James saved, it was Remus. What do you think the Ministry would have done to a werewolf who attacked a school boy? James didn't go down there to save Snape, he went to stop Remus doing the one thing that would have got him destroyed like a wild animal by the Ministry. They wouldn't have given a damn that he was just a boy. To them – to everyone – Remus is a monster.'

Harry stared at him, aghast and speechless.

Sirius suddenly lurched forwards, seizing Harry's hands in both of his. 'Please, Harry, do this for me? Tell Remus I'm sorry that I almost caused his death. Tell him I loved him as much as James, that he was like a brother to me. That his friendship meant every bit as much to me as mine did to him.'

Harry stared at the wretched look in his godfather's eyes and felt the tears rise again; but this time, for the first time, they were not for himself. Slowly he sank to his knees, pulling his hands out of Sirius' grip as he did so.

'Sirius,' he whispered. 'I promise I'll do this for you. I'll do whatever you want me to.'

Sirius closed his eyes, reigning in his own emotions, unable to speak. And in the stillness, Harry wrapped his arms around him and held him silently.

'Forgive me,' whispered Sirius. 'All you've ever wanted to do was save me; now I'm leaving you when you need me most. I'm so sorry.'

Harry gave a sob. 'I forgive you,' he wept. 'I love you.'

A look of profound peace filled Sirius' eyes. 'I love you too, Harry,' he said. He reached out a hand that was as real as it had ever been, and stroked Harry's face, brushing away the tears.

Harry swallowed, his eyes tightly shut. 'Goodbye, Sirius,' he whispered.

**The End**

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* * *

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**Author's Note (of monumental self-indulgence. And why not?)**

And there we have it, my magnum opus complete at last.

Very huge thank you to everyone who reviewed. I wrote this story, partly because I couldn't wait for Book 6 and needed some distraction, and partly because I wanted to write and hadn't done so for years. Criticising my own work is something I've always done well; your words of praise have balanced my negativity. I can say in all honesty I'd have never finished this without your support. Thank you.

And what a fascinating bunch of reviews the last two chapters gained! Very relieved nobody seems to have been offended by my use of Christian concepts, and that some people sound really happy with them. I was a bit worried about my use of them, as they originally led into some ideas which I think some Christians might find offensive. There was more about the Khvalibogs I was planning to write, but decided it might be better left to the imagination.

Chapters Twenty Eight and Twenty Nine were almost the whole of the story that's been buzzing around my head for the two years it's taken to write this, so I'm very pleased so many people liked it.

However, I am sorry, Silverthreads and Lady Ravenna, that you didn't like it. I thought it was a good twist, the idea of Christian redemption – although no, Duj, it didn't have much to do with what JKR said about Snape and redemption in one of her interviews. The idea I'm using here is pretty much a classic one of a sinner finding God; I had the impression JKR was talking about redemption of a more mundane sort, where someone gets an experience which makes them see themselves in a completely different light, without God being necessarily involved.

As for Christianity in JKR's world – I think it is there, actually. Like Tolkien, she's not exactly using obvious or overt Christian references, but her own values as a Christian seem to come through in places, notably the idea that Harry was saved by his mother's sacrifice, his mother's blood. Cf. Dumbledore talking to Harry about what saved him from Voldemort, both in Philosopher's Stone and Order of the Phoenix. That sounds strongly like a direct reference to Jesus giving his life for ours out of love. Although, as Moody says in my story, these ideas feature in a number of religions, not just Christianity. (Silverthreads – can't you take comfort from the fact that Moody agrees with you 100? ; )

Final notes on my story: I really, really regret that I didn't continue with it last year, when I was gunning away with it, churning out a chapter every Sunday. I know what you mean, Shiver, when you said some bits were hard to get through. There were definitely bits where I was struggling to make the points I wanted and get to the next piece of action. The problem was, although I'd planned out large sections of it, the big scenes, as it were, I didn't put too much thought into the little connective parts – and I think that probably shows. And then I got distracted just over a year ago, and really struggled to move on. The part about Snape being surgically killed by Moody then brought back to life, in order to break his spell and save him and Harry, was monumentally difficult to write, and those chapters appeared, after a long break, about a year ago – only to be followed by another long silence.

And ultimately I've missed a lot out.

Minerva, Tonks and Shacklebolt were originally going to do much more than they did; I planned a whole thread set in the Ministry, full of James Bond style excitement, where Shacklebolt and Tonks tracked down the spy. This is probably the most obvious omission, from the contrived plot-device section in the Epilogue. Other things which got left out, and which I hope haven't left too much hanging include Neville's memory of the attack on his parents.

The original plan was to have Moody discovering Neville's memory in Snape's Pensive – Snape realised Neville would be permanently traumatised by his experience, and removed all memory of it to save him. Consequently, St Mungo's performed their Memory Charms on a memory which wasn't there, leading to the terrible memory Neville is now famous for. Furthermore, Snape was deliberately as horrible as he could be to Neville in Potions, because he wanted him to fail. Without Potions, Neville could never become an Auror like his parents and risk meeting their terrible fate.

I wanted to develop and explore the relationship between Harry and Snape in the dream world very much; but it just didn't seem to work. Similarly the relationship between Snape and Alice; although possibly that works better because you only get glimpses.

Finally, Snape's missing arm. He goes home, successfully vanquishes his demon, and grows the arm back, complete with Dark Mark, in order to return to his life at Hogwarts. He tells Harry that he didn't gain the marks he needed to study NEWT level Potions; but that doesn't matter because there will be a new Potions teacher. He will be teaching Defence Against The Dark Arts. At last!

What else? Can't think of anything now, and I want to post this and get it out the way! I'm bored with it now, and it's only four days until we get the real book 6!

Best wishes to everyone, thank you again, hugely, for your wonderful reviews. You made me so happy : ) Thank you :)

S.

12 July 2005


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